


Lost Souls

by rednihilist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-04
Updated: 2008-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 37,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2131896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednihilist/pseuds/rednihilist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew what he'd had when he'd had it, but now that it's gone. . . well, there's only one way to move forward. (Season One AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: ‘Smallville’ and certain characters belong to Miller-Gough et. al. No profit is gained from this writing--only, hopefully, enjoyment.
> 
> AN: This story is incomplete and discontinued, but I still want it somewhere. (Has not been re-edited since 2008.)

He figured out later -- through hacked-into autopsy reports that showed an estimated time of death -- that he'd been at Lex's when it'd happened. And he thought it oddly fitting that he be there. For who could understand how lost he felt afterward. . . better than Lex?

He'd said goodbye to them about 45 minutes before the morning bell at school, told his dad he was meeting Pete and Chloe at The Beanery for a quick coffee before first period. And he'd hugged his mom like always, kissing her on the cheek when she whispered, "Tell Lex good morning, honey." He'd stepped out onto the porch at 7:15 a.m. on February 12, a Tuesday, to the weak winter sun streaking across the farm, snow on the ground, and his breath escaping his body in cloudy bursts.

It had been the perfect morning, just two days before Valentine's Day. He'd smiled on his way over to Lex's, remembering his dad asking his advice on the necklace he'd bought for Mom. And Clark had felt so happy that morning that the world, even the whole of Smallville, seemed not so bad. That morning was full of possibilities, as far as his alien eyes could see.

And then his world collapsed in on itself.

***

" --I'm telling you," Pete whispered across the aisle to him. "If you just ask her, she's not gonna freak. Clark, man, you gotta step up some time. Why not now?"

"Shhh," he hissed. "You're gonna get us in trouble. Just drop it, okay?"

Pete glared at him and shook his head, but he leaned back into his seat. 

"Now don't forget to read chapter 36 for tomorrow!" Ms. Tate said loudly. "And your book reports are due next Thursday so make sure-- "

She was interrupted by a knock on the classroom door. Everyone's head turned as it opened and the school's counselor, Mrs. Etsemiller, slowly came into the room. She looked shocked and sad, and Pete whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "We know what that look means. . . " And Clark nodded because it was true. The counselor had worn that expression last week, when she'd come into Mr. Shev's Geometry class to tell Tracy Denlef her grandmother had died. 

Everyone was watching the two women speak, and when they both turned to look at Clark, he stopped breathing. Ms. Tate looked ready to cry and Mrs. Etsemiller was now slowly -- God, so slowly -- moving in between the aisles of desks towards. . .

But it wasn't him, surely. He was fourth in the row, so maybe it was Tim behind him or Carrie, who sat behind Tim. Or-- or it could be someone in the next row over, just so far in the back that it'd only seemed like they'd been looking at Clark. Maybe it was Stacia, because her mom was really sick and--

"Clark?" Mrs. Etsemiller said softly. "Honey, I need you to come with me, okay? There's-- there's something I need to tell you." She gestured with her hand -- her long, slender, pale hand -- for him to get up, but he couldn't. This wasn't real. 

He knew what she was going to say. There were only two reasons in the whole world why she'd be here for him, and suddenly he just knew.

He nodded to her, and reached down to gather up his books. He fumbled the pen, though, and Pete leaned down to pick it up for him. Clark met his eyes, and he'd never seen Pete look so sad. Not even that time when he'd broken his arm. And he'd been crying then.

"Clark, man. . . " Pete said, holding onto the pen and not letting it go. 

Clark tried to smile at him, and just tugged a little harder, and Pete let go.

He followed the counselor out of the room, all of the other kids looking at him and whispering already. He walked beside her down the hallway, followed her into her office, sat down when she gestured for him to take a seat. Sheriff Ethan was standing in front of the window, looking out, and when Clark came in, the man turned to look at him. Clark met Mrs. Etsemiller's so sad eyes and before she could say anything he asked, "What happened?"

She swallowed and took the chair next to him, not the one behind her desk. Sheriff Ethan kept standing, but he stared at Clark and nothing else.

"Clark, there was an accident this morning." The counselor's voice was low and quiet, soft and full of regret. It made him want to weep already. "On your farm. A piece of equipment exploded, the police said, and. . . oh, honey, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but your parents were caught in it. Clark," she said, reaching out and taking his hands. She squeezed them and looked him in the eyes and said, "They didn't make it. I'm so sorry, but they died, honey."

And it was hard to remember why he shouldn't run away just then, why hiding his powers was really necessary. He could speed home and see them and come back here, and tell Mrs. Etsemiller that there was some mistake. His parents were fine and healthy. His dad would be working in the barn, or talking to the cows like he vehemently denied he did. And his mom would be in the kitchen, or down in the basement doing laundry. She'd be planning this week's meals, calling her friends and talking, checking the schedule for the next time she volunteered at the rest home or made house calls to the elderly. 

They were fine. They weren't. . . they weren't. . .

"Clark?" Mrs. Etsemiller asked in a worried voice. "Clark, do you understand, honey? Sheriff Ethan is here to take you-- "

"I understand," he whispered. He should be crying, he thought. You were supposed to cry when your parents. . . but he didn't feel like crying. He just wanted to go home and see them. Run and prove everyone wrong. It was all wrong and they'd see that when he got home. He'd speed right up to the snow-covered lawn, climb the steps and push open the door and his mom and dad would be right there, and they'd turn as one to look at him with smiles on their faces, and his dad would raise his coffee up in a salute and Mom would laugh. . . "What's going to happen now?" he asked.

"Well," Sheriff Ethan said. He stepped forward and met Clark's eyes, his own shining brightly. "We called your grandfather, your mother's father, and he and your grandma will be here in a few hours. I'm gonna take you to the hospital, and we'll wait there for them."

"Why-- why the hospital? Why aren't we-- " He stopped and tried to think, but everything was all jumbled. It was like his brain was running and not his legs. Thoughts and images kept flashing in his head, and it was so difficult to think why they shouldn't. . . "Why do I have to go to the hospital?"

He saw the Sheriff shift on his feet, and forced himself to breathe. 

"Someone has to. . . identify them, son. And your grandfather is coming down to do that." He cleared his throat, and Clark blinked down at his hands, still held between Mrs. Etsemiller's. "The farm's a mess. It's not safe to go there right now. Clark, son," the Sheriff said, and Clark saw the man's pants move closer in his field of vision. "You gather up your stuff and I'll take you to the hospital. You and me, we'll wait for your grandparents together, okay?"

Clark wanted to nod. He thought it would be nice to look up at Sheriff Ethan and give him a tearful smile, thank him for coming himself because he knew that he'd been a good friend of Dad's. 

But he didn't. He pulled his hands away from Mrs. Etsemiller's and stood up quickly. Bending over, he snatched up his book bag and walked to the door. 

"Clark?" the counselor asked, in that same worried-scared tone that'd colored every word to come out of her mouth. 

But he didn't turn around, just jerked the door open and took off down the hallway. He kept on walking, right out of the school, and when he was about halfway across the parking lot, he heard a puffing behind him and glanced back to see Sheriff Ethan jogging after him.

"Clark!" Ethan yelled. "Son, wait up. You're-- "

"I'm not your son," he whispered. "I'm not anybody's son. . . I'm not-- " and his face suddenly felt hot. There were tears in his mouth and rolling down his face, and he was kneeling on the pavement of the parking lot. Sheriff Ethan was bending over him, then he got down on his knees too, and gripped Clark's arms.

"You're their son," he told him, tears of his own sliding down his face and into his mustache. "You are their son, Clark, and nothing's going to change that. You hear me? Nothing's gonna change that."

And when Clark looked up at the sky, he saw stars, stars through the clouds and daylight. Stars and stars and stars, folded and cradled in endless black. A sea of destiny, an ocean of life and death.

"I'll find you again," he whispered. "I'll see you again, I swear."


	2. One

A new school, a new house, a new life.

Being in his grandparents' house was awful.

William never got in before eight, and Mary was always quietly reading in the study. Clark felt more alone in that big ugly house of theirs than he ever had working out in the fields back home. It used to be when he and Dad were working, hours would pass when they wouldn't see each other, but Clark had always known his dad was still there.

It felt like it'd been months since he'd talked to anyone. He'd pleaded and begged to be allowed to stay in Smallville, but William had refused. Clark knew now that it wouldn't have been possible for him to stay, but William could have just told him that, rather than just fixing him with that disgusted scowl and repeating "No" again and again.

He had a new computer and new clothes. There'd been a new iPod next to the computer, a cell phone, and a bunch of movies in the entertainment room that he knew had been bought specifically for him. He couldn't figure out who'd done it, though. William seemed wholly dedicated to his work. The only times he was even in the house were when he was sleeping or when Mary was throwing a party. Even on Saturdays, William was gone. Even on Sundays. All day, every day, and Clark didn't think he'd talked to the man in over a week.

And Mary. Mary was so quiet and contained. She was around, but she always looked at him funny when she saw him. Clark avoided her like the plague. It wasn't that she was mean or anything. Quite the opposite. Clark guessed it'd been she who'd bought him everything, if only because William was too damn busy at work to even spare Clark a thought. And Mary always sat down with him to eat dinner, and she did try to talk to him: about his day at school and what he was studying, and if he'd made any friends yet. But it was always with that look on her face, and he guessed what it meant, what she was likely thinking every time she looked at him. He thought it, too. Or maybe it was just because it'd been years since she'd seen Mom. And Mary had never seen Clark before, had only heard from William 12 years ago that Mom and Dad had adopted a boy.

She was nice and smart and sometimes funny, and she was his mom's mom. But she tried to mother him too, and it was too similar and too terribly strange. He didn't like it, couldn't stand it, didn't want to hear her voice that was just that little bit off, her smile or frown that was slightly different, what she let him get away with that Mom- that he never would've gotten away with back home.

And she didn't know him, and maybe that was why she looked at him like he was strange and uncomfortable to be around: because he was. He was a farm kid with small town farm manners and no knowledge of Metropolitan society beyond what he knew of Lex's life.

Clark had managed to convince William to allow him to go to public school. He'd told them he wasn't smart enough to go to a private school, and when Mary had laughed and said that most of the boys at the academy weren't really smart enough to be there, he'd tried a different tack. He'd told them that he was a hick and he'd probably get picked on and harassed like crazy if he went to a private boys' school. Mary had looked at William for a long time and then after the man had nodded softly to her, she'd turned back to Clark and told him "okay." They'd enroll him in North Metro High, and he'd start sometime next week.

Chloe sent him e-mails and IM requests at least once, sometimes several times, a day. She called the house and left messages with Mary and the staff. Pete tried a little less frequently, but Clark had to give his friend points for creativity and unusual methods. One night, Mary had told him there was a package from Smallville waiting for him on the table in the study. And when he'd opened it, it'd been a walkie talkie with a note. 'Long distance phone calls instead, man?' it'd said, and Clark had felt like smiling. But he hadn't.

Even Lana and Whitney had tried to talk to him. The other day, Saturday, Lana had called and asked to speak to him, and when Clark had hidden outside on the roof, Mary had taken a message from her. She and Whitney, and Chloe and Pete were coming up to Metropolis next weekend. And would he like to meet them at the Crossroads Mall at ten in the morning? Mary told him about it that night at dinner, even said she thought Lana had sounded like "a very nice young lady."

Clark had nodded and asked to be excused, and Mary had nodded back, that look on her face again.

School wasn't as difficult as Clark had feared it would be. He didn't get picked on or mocked or pushed around, and he thought it might have been because he was taller and bigger than a lot of the other boys, upperclassmen and the obvious jocks included. He didn't have to take a P.E. course, either, so that saved him having to get undressed and showered in front of a bunch of strangers. Sure, back in Smallville, he'd had to shower and everything, but it was with the same guys he'd known practically all his life. He'd showered with Pete and Mark and Justin and Nate and Elliot and Matt since they were in sixth grade. It hadn't been a really big deal for a long time. But in Metropolis? He didn't know anyone.

Well, that wasn't really true. He somewhat knew William and Mary Clark. And he knew Lex.

Lex had taken to sending him little notes through e-mail. Just the man's thoughts on his day, on Smallville, on life in general. Once, he'd even shared the story of how he'd found his own mother dead in her bed. Lex wrote that the general consensus was Lillian Luthor had passed due to the cancer in her body, but that, "when I went to her room, all her pill bottles were scattered across the bed. I never told anyone that I gathered and replaced every single, small pill in its designated container, recapped all of them, and smoothed out her comforter to hide the fact that they'd ever been there. I never told anyone, Clark, but I'm telling you now." Clark printed that e-mail out and folded it up into a tiny rectangle. He put it in his wallet and kept it in the right-hand back pocket of his pants everyday.

Lex never tried to call William and Mary's house. He only sent those little notes. "I saw a cow escape a field today. It tried to cross the road, and I laughed the whole way back to the castle, wondering what the punch line to the joke really was." "Gabe told me that when he and Chloe first moved here, when she began hanging out with you and Pete, that he thought you were colorblind. Evidently, you insisted even then on wearing blue and red together and Gabe thought it was just a case of you not being able to tell the difference between the two colors." "I saw Chloe and Pete today. Pete waved at me. I'm worried, Clark. Is there some sort of plan going on there that I should know about?"

"I'm moving back to Metropolis next month. I'd very much like to see you, my friend. Please let me know. . . "

***

He was on his way to fourth period science when he accidentally bumped into someone. The girl in front of him had stopped suddenly, and Clark hadn't been quick enough to avoid running into her.

"Sorry," he mumbled. The girl had dropped her books and he bent down to help her pick them up.

"No-- no, it's. . . " her voice hesitated, and Clark looked up to see what was wrong. The girl was giving him a strange look, sort of. . . assessing and calculated. "It's okay, really," she told him, her eyes flitting over his face.

"Well. . . good," he returned hesitantly. He handed her the last of her things -- a few spiral-bound notebooks -- and stood up. With a final nod, he made to walk away, but the girl stopped him with an outstretched hand.

"Wait," she said. "What's your name?" When Clark just looked at her, she went on to say, "So that I can say I know someone here. I'm-- I'm new and I don't-- "

"Clark," he interrupted. "I'm Clark Kent."

She smiled and nodded, and opened her mouth to tell him her name. . .

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Clark Kent. I'm-- "

. . . but he just moved aside and walked past her, not waiting to hear her name.

Not caring.

***

"So I say to this guy, I say 'Fuck you, you freak! Get off my property or I'll call the fuckin' policia, brah! You understand English, hombre?!'"

There was laughter, and Clark tried to become even more invisible as the guy went on talking in low tones. Mr. Jenks was a mean teacher, who wouldn't tolerate anyone talking in his class without their hand raised. If you were caught, Jenks gave you a week's worth of detentions on the spot. No questions asked.

" . . .so then this ugly bastard, he tries to come over to my ma and I just pull out my gun and Wham! Guy takes off like a shot the other way!" The guys around him laughed again, and Clark just closed his eyes and prayed he wouldn't be implicated when they got caught. He was sitting across the aisle from them, scrunching in his seat as far in the opposite direction as he could. Surely Mr. Jenks wouldn't think he was talking, too?

" . . . what'd you do then, man?" one of the other guys asked, leaning closer to the story-teller.

"I turned around and told my ma that the problem was solved," the guy retorted. He had long, blond hair tied back in a ponytail, and when Clark glanced over, the guy winked at him. Clark flinched and jerked his head back to the front of the classroom, where Mr. Jenks was irritatedly demonstrating how to diagram a sentence for the third day in a row.

"Dude, your mom is totally hot! You think-- "

"Christ, you sick fucker! That's my mother you're talking about!" the guy exclaimed. He stared disgustedly at the boy who'd said that and didn't even twitch when Mr. Jenks shouted.

"Mr. Lyons!" the teacher screamed, throwing his chalk at the wall in frustration. Jenks stared at the blond-haired boy and the boy just stared right back with a blank expression on his face. "How many times are we going to go through this? Detention. For two weeks this time! And you guys," he said, pointing at the four boys whose bodies were still turned around towards Lyons. "One week for all of you, as well!" When the guys started complaining loudly, Mr. Jenks cut his hand through the air and said, "I don't care! You were listening? You were interrupting my class? Detention! If you don't like it, feel free to transfer to some other teacher's class and cause trouble there! But I won't stand for it!"

Clark breathed out slowly, relieved that he hadn't been caught in the fallout. When Jenks went back to the board after handing all five of the boys detention slips, Clark couldn't help looking over at the blond-haired boy -- Lyons.

And when he met his eyes, Clark thought the other boy's name a perfect fit. Lyons. . . that long hair, and those pale, aggressive eyes.

He has eyes like Lex, Clark thought. Then he whipped his head back to the blackboard, and resolutely stared at it until the end of the period.

But he could feel Lyons' stare on him.

***

There was a knock on his door, and Clark set his book down. "Yes?" he called out, and the door was pushed open. Mary stuck her head around the frame and smiled tentatively at him.

"You have a. . . visitor, dear," she said, somewhat hesitantly. "He said he knew you, but I wasn't too sure. So I thought it best to ask you whether-- "

"Who is it?" he asked, interrupting her.

"Well, it's Lex Luthor," she said in a stunned voice.

Clark got up from the bed and walked over to the door, and Mary stepped back into the hallway, her face worried and a little on-edge.

"He said you two were friends," she stated, trailing after him as he started off down the hallway towards the stairs.

"Yes. We are," Clark replied. He took the steps two and three at a time, deliberately out-distancing himself from Mary and her questions and suspicions. He looked around the entryway, eventually figuring out that Mary would have invited Lex inside, no matter how unsure she was of his connection to her adopted grandson.

The main room, then, he guessed. Where Mary had her parties, and entertained her friends. She would have shown Lex into the--

"Lex!" he called out, once he'd spotted the dark figure over by the fireplace. Lex turned to him with a smile on his face, but it faded away when he met Clark's eyes. Clark crossed the room, reaching out to hug Lex when he got close enough.

And Lex just returned it, his arms coming up to wrap around Clark's back.

A few moments, and Clark stepped out of the embrace, put some distance between them again. "You back in the city to stay, then?"

Lex's eyes wandered over Clark's face, a small frown tugging at his mouth. He replied distractedly, "Yes. All moved into the penthouse. Clark," he said, stepping closer and reaching up to grip Clark's arms, "how have you been? You doing okay. . . here?" He cast a quick glance around the ornately decorated room, his eyebrows raised in question when he looked back at Clark.

"Yeah, Lex," he told him, trying for a smile. He couldn't get one, though, and just settled for nodding his head reassuringly. "Things are good. You busy today? Did you want to hang out some?"

Lex kept his eyes locked on Clark's, but he dropped his hands away, sliding them into his pants pockets in a heart-tuggingly familiar gesture. "I was hoping we could talk for a bit," he said, still searching Clark's face for. . . something. "Maybe catch a movie, or visit a museum? Have you had time to explore the city any?"

Clark shook his head. "No," he said. "Just school, mainly. I'll leave it up to you. Where do you want to go? I don't have a preference, really."

"I can see that," Lex murmured quietly, as if to himself. Then, with an almost visible shaking of himself, Lex smiled at Clark and said, "Well, then. I think some culture and art is just the thing. What do you say, Clark? The Museum sound okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied. He walked to the door of the room, making sure Lex followed after him into the hallway. "Let me just go tell Mary." Clark started off towards the study, but turned back after only a few steps. Lex was standing in front of the glass double doors, and his body looked relaxed, but his face didn't. He was frowning, and his mouth was pursed.

Clark swallowed. "Lex?"

"Yeah?" he called out in reply, and there was worry there. Lex was worried about him.

"I'm really happy to see you," Clark said, and was surprised when his voice wavered a bit at the end.

Lex gave him a tiny, sad smile. "I'm really happy to see you, too, Clark," he said.

And Clark turned around and headed towards the study.


	3. Two

He'd managed three weeks before any of the teachers really started noticing him. First it was Mr. Burke in Trigonometry. By all rights, Clark shouldn't have even been in that class in the first place, but he'd been required to take tests before being enrolled, and he couldn't see the point in lying on them. Deliberately messing up on a test like that, hiding what he really could do, it felt an awful lot like lying. And with Mom and Dad gon-- there just didn't seem to be a point in actively hiding when he was already invisible. 

Mary had told him that they just wanted to make sure he was at the appropriate grade level for his needs, but Clark thought they'd probably figured he'd be at the opposite end of the scale, coming from some dinky small school and all. They probably thought he'd gone to some one-room schoolhouse, with a single teacher for all the grades. It was called Smallville, after all. But, no, he'd tested out of all the Algebra classes, out of Geometry. He was even in Physics, and the assistant who'd arranged -- and even helped him sort out -- his classes had signed him up for a Sophomore English class. He was for all intents and purposes a year ahead in school. And Clark thought, if he just stretched a little more, showed what he really knew in class and talked. . . he might be a junior next month. If he studied or worked hard, he could probably graduate next year.

But he didn't. He just shrugged along and kept to himself. He didn't raise his hand in class, and since he never caused trouble, the teachers returned the favor by never calling on him. Mary'd had the cook pack him a lunch for his whole first week at school, but he'd told her that that just made him stand out more and it'd stopped. If he asked, Clark was sure she wouldn't hesitate to give him lunch money. But he didn't ask. He ate dinner with her and that was enough. He wasn't hungry, not like he'd been. . . before. . . and he wasn't losing weight, so he thought maybe it didn't even matter if he ever ate or not. It was just another part of his alien-ness. If he were truly invulnerable, then it made sense that he couldn't starve. Just one less thing to think about.

In math yesterday, Mr. Burke had called Clark up to the board to solve a problem, and for one split second he'd been tempted to just call out the answer from his seat. He'd already solved it in his head, and it would be so easy, so simple, it might even feel good to just. . . but he didn't. He trudged up to the board and wrote it all out. His one concession had been that he didn't fake any pauses, just wrote the whole thing down quickly and quietly returned to his seat in the back. Mr. Burke had seemed to look at Clark more closely after that.

Clark hadn't gone to the mall two weekends ago. He went walking the whole day, and when he got back, Mary told him that his friends had called repeatedly. From what she said, it sounded like Chloe had been one step away from hailing a cab and coming over to physically get him. Good thing he'd been gone. Mary suggested he call them back and arrange for another day out. She thought he'd just forgotten and Clark didn't enlighten her.

He didn't call them. He told Mary he didn't want to talk to anyone, and eventually they quit calling as often. Pete still sent emails every week, but it was Chloe who wouldn't give up. She still IM'd him every night, and sent him several e-mails during the day. She called every Tuesday and every Friday like clockwork, and Clark didn't respond to any of it.

What was the point? That's what he kept thinking. All day long, sitting in class and looking at the back of someone else's head, when he went back to William's house and read books, when he tried to sleep, when he ran around the city in the mornings, or went walking on the weekends -- What was the point of any of it? What did it matter, really? Who cared?

Chloe cared, he told himself. Pete cared. Hell, even Lana and Whitney kinda cared. . . as much as either of them could really care about anyone but themselves. And Mary was trying. Clark could see that, he could. She talked to him about his day, about what she'd done, about her garden come spring, and some of the trips she'd taken with her husband. Once, she'd tried to talk about Mom and some horse show, but Clark just set his fork down and left the room.

Lex. God, Lex cared.

Lex's e-mails had grown longer since he'd come back to the city. Now they described how tedious he found it to be working alongside his father, how boring board meetings really were, how he couldn't wait to just relax and watch some cheesy science fiction movie at the end of the day, and Clark had known that was Lex's way of inviting him over. All he had to do was ask, or just call him up, and Lex would insist he come over and see the penthouse. He'd be so understanding and nice. And Lex wouldn't even push, like Clark knew Chloe or Pete would. They'd just hang out and watch B movies. Maybe he'd even get a speech about Alexander the Great or the many examples of social commentary in Star Trek classic.

But what was the point? Who cared, really?

And the answers were: there wasn't one, not for Clark anymore; and he didn't.

The day after he'd figured that out, he wrote a reply to one of Lex's e-mails. In it, Lex had said something about a new plasma screen and some complicated -- and this was Lex talking -- stereo equipment he'd just bought.

"Do you have plans this Saturday?" Clark wrote. "I think I'd like to see the Japanese entertainment system that managed to stump Lex Luthor."

Ten minutes later, Lex sent a reply telling him how to get into the Towers, and that he was free all day. 

*** 

" --at least two full pages, people!" Mr. Jenks bellowed. "If you need help writing this thing, by all that is holy, please go to the tutoring center right down the hall, or come to me! I don't want to have to hand out 11 F's, 15 D's, and only two A's like last time! That is not my idea of education."

"What about my B?" the boy to Clark's right asked loudly. "Is that considered educated?"

Jenks sighed and pursed his lips. He looked at Lyons and said, "What do you think? Did you try your best? Did you put all your knowledge and grasp of the subject to good use?"

Lyons smirked and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, yeah," he replied. "But we can't all be teacher's pets or spoiled, little rich boys. I gotta use the stuff in the library, and there're only 23 computers that work in there." And even though he didn't look at Clark, though he never even glanced or twitched towards him at all, Clark knew Lyons meant him. "Not all of us get a new computer every year. And, you know. . . some of us have jobs to get to. For all that," Lyons said, and everyone was quiet. "I think a B is a damn good grade, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't insult me, or the other three people in here who got that same grade, by ignoring our hard work."

There was a smile on nearly all the students' faces and even Jenks looked intrigued and mildly impressed.

"An interesting take, Mr. Lyons. And I assure you, never again will I belittle the B. A very good grade," he said, imitating Lyons' cadence and inflection, but replacing 'damn' with 'very.'

The bell sounded and they all began gathering up their stuff. It was lunch for Clark after this, so he took his time getting up from his desk. As he stood and waited for the girls who sat behind him to pass by, Clark accidentally met Lyons' eyes across the aisle.

"You like my speech, rich boy?" Lyons asked. He was smiling, and the four guys who seemed to follow him around everywhere laughed. "Just specially made for you today."

Clark just stared back until the way before him was clear, then he turned his back on them and started walking away.

"You think you're so fucking special just 'cause you have money?!" Lyons shouted.

"Mr. Lyons!" Jenks shouted from his desk. As he turned back to look at him, Clark thought this must really be a sore spot for Lyons if he were calling him on it right in full-view of a teacher -- and a teacher who had no problem handing out detention slips like they were candy, at that. "That is enough!" The teacher started making his way towards Lyons and his crew, two of whom, Clark noticed, had started inching in the direction of the door.

"Why are you even here?" Lyons asked, laughing. There was an ugly look on the boy's face, almost like he was snarling at Clark. "Shouldn't you be in some fancy-ass private school? They kick you out for sucking cock, pretty boy?"

"That is enough," Mr. Jenks said again, grabbing Lyons' arm and jerking on it. "The rest of you will leave," the teacher said, and the other four boys immediately made a bee-line for the exit. "And you, Lyons, you and I are taking a little trip to the principal's. Doesn't that sound like fun?" Jenks' voice was low and cold, and he turned his eyes to look at Clark. "Kent, you go ahead and go to lunch."

Clark met the teacher's eyes, then turned to look at Lyons again. The other boy was still smirking at him, as though this was all just some big game or joke.

"Yeah, you go ahead, Kent," Lyons said, winking at him, and Jenks jerked on the boy's arm again.

"Not another word," the teacher growled. "Hey!" he said, shaking Lyons' arm to get his attention. "Keep that mouth of yours closed, you hear me? Kent. Go." All said while he and Lyons glared at each other.

And Clark turned his back again and left. 

***

"If you're bored, we can watch something else," Lex said with a short chuckle.

"No, this is fine," he replied. "I just. . . I've just got something on my mind and it's kinda distracting, is all."

Lex half-turned to face him on the sofa, bringing his right leg up and resting his arm along the back of the cushions. He met Clark's eyes and asked, "What's up? What's caught your attention these days?"

"Am I now considered a rich kid?" Clark asked him.

Lex raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth curled up. "By some, perhaps. Clark," he said more seriously, "what brought this on? Are they giving you trouble at school?"

Clark shook his head and leaned his head back against the sofa. "I just wondered. It's no big deal." He turned his eyes back to Lex and told him, "Really, it's fine."

"And I don't think it is," Lex replied. His expression had gone blank and Clark knew by now that was never a good sign. "I still talk to Lana, you know," he said, almost conversationally. "She and I are in business together, after all, and it's better if I keep an eye on things. She told me that the four of them waited for you all day at that mall, that Chloe wanted to go over to your grandparents' house and haul you out." Lex took a deep breath, then went on. "You blew them off, Clark. Why? Did-- did something come up? Is that why you didn't go?"

Clark turned his head away and just focused on breathing. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly. 

Lex huffed out a dry laugh and Clark saw him run his hand over his scalp.

"Everyone's different," Lex said thoughtfully. "That's what they're always telling us anyway. We're all unique and special. But, the two of us, you and me," he said, trying to catch Clark's gaze. He had that glint in his eyes, the same one he'd had when Clark had returned the truck that day -- when Lex had talked of flying and friendship. 

It seemed like forever ago.

"We're even more different than everyone else, aren't we?" Lex asked.

And he turned his head and met Lex's excited stare.

What was the point? What did it really matter anymore?

Who cared?

He was all alone, even more than he'd been since Da-- since he'd found out what he really was. No one else on this planet knew him, knew about him. No one else could possibly understand all that he'd been through. No one, not Pete with his big, perfect family, not Chloe and her obsession with the strange and unusual. Sure as hell not Whitney! 

And not Lana Lang. She would look at Clark with disgust and fear, he just knew it. He'd killed her parents just by living. . . how could you forgive someone for that?

Mary and William had taken him in. They gave him a place to live and books and a computer and. . . and every minute he spent in that house felt suffocating. William would never forgive Dad for taking Mom away from them, and he would never forgive Clark for keeping her away, for being a constant reminder of why she'd left.

There was no one else in the world, maybe in the whole of the universe who knew, who would understand him like his. . . like Mom and Dad had.

Clark studied Lex's face and his lips twitched up in a brief smile.

No one. . . but Lex.

"Yeah, Lex. You and I are truly unique -- two of a kind."

And when Lex grinned, when his face lit up in such obvious pleasure, Clark grinned back and felt a little happy.

And felt. . . something like he hadn't since they'd died. Since he'd killed them just by living.

Since they'd been blown up by the ship.


	4. Three

"Just take your time, people," Mr. Burke said to the class. "Remember those tricks we learned, and if you need help, just raise your hand." Clark watched the teacher smile as he slowly wended his way amongst the desks. "I like all my students to pass my exams, at least." 

The Trig. mid-term exams had been handed out seven minutes ago.

Clark had finished his in four minutes and 47 seconds. Well, he'd gone over it again, double-checking everything, so actually it was probably closer to five minutes and 13 seconds.

And he didn't really know why he'd done that. Now he had to sit and wait for someone else to get done, sit and act like he was still working. . . hide his already-completed test from Mr. Burke's too curious gaze. The teacher was coming up the aisle on Clark's left, and he pulled his arms in closer around his test. He'll just go by, Clark thought. He doesn't really look at them. . . he'll just walk by and-- 

"Clark?" Mr. Burke whispered at his left. He sounded startled and Clark cursed his luck. Stupid, stupid! he chastised himself. Lex never would have done something so stupid. . . "Clark, are you finished already?"

Clark bit his lip and turned to meet Mr. Burke's surprised face. He nodded and ducked his head, whipping the papers out and pushing them at the teacher. "May I have a pass to the library, sir?" Clark whispered. 

He could feel Mr. Burke's eyes still on him, but the teacher said, "Yeah. . . yeah, of course you can. Let me just, um, take this back and I'll. . . write you one."

When Clark glanced around, he saw most of the other kids looking back at him -- some were scowling at him, others just looked vaguely envious. And a few seemed to be studying him, staring and judging. He ducked his head down again, gathering up his books and stuffing them into his book bag, then making his way to the front of the class. He stood in front of Mr. Burke's desk as the man filled in a pink excused pass. And when the teacher tried to catch his eyes, Clark just nodded and took off for the door. Once out in the hallway, he slowed down and breathed in deeply a few times before continuing towards the library.

He passed a bathroom halfway there, and when he heard someone yell "Shit!" Clark stopped. His instincts kicked in and before he could think better of it, he was flinging the door open and looking around.

Three guys were surrounding one, taking turns punching and hitting him. When Clark stepped closer, one of the boys turned around and glared at him.

"Get outta here, man," the boy said. His voice was calm, but his eyes looked crazy. Clark just stood up a little straighter and glared right back at him.

"How 'bout you three leave, and we'll call it even?" Clark returned. Then he shrugged and folded his arms across his chest.

One of the other guys hissed, "Fuck this, man! Hey," he said and grabbed the poor boy being beat up by the front of his shirt. "You try something like this again, and we'll finish this. You get me?" He shook the kid and growled, "We get any more bad shit and you can kiss your mama goodbye!"

"Yeah!" the one who'd told Clark to leave added. "I paid good money for that shit! Don't think you're the only 'businessman' in town. We go higher up, I'm sure we'll find someone else who has good stuff."

There was a choking noise, and Clark took another step forward when he figured out it was coming from the boy being held up against the wall. "Leave," Clark said, coldly.

"Fuck you, asshole!" the guy on the right said. "We got a bone to pick with this fag, and you're gonna-- "

Clark moved and closed his hand carefully around the guy's throat before he could say another word. He watched eyes widen till the whites showed, then leaned in and whispered, "Leave." Releasing the boy's throat, he stared at the wall and listened to the sound of three sets of sneakers moving quickly away.

The sound of coughing next to him forced Clark to look up and he nearly groaned aloud when he saw who he'd just rescued. He took a few steps back, hiking the strap of his bag up farther onto his shoulder.

"You. . . okay?" he asked Lyons after awhile.

Lyons just coughed some more and lumbered over to the sinks. He bent over one and spat, and it didn't escape Clark's notice that it was red. " . . . the fuck 're you doing here?" Lyons rasped. 

"On my way to the library," he replied, a little more coolly. "You good, then?" he asked, nodding towards the thin trail of blood sliding down Lyons' chin.

Lyons cast a look in the mirror, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. "Yeah," he replied shortly. "Thanks. See ya." Then he turned on the tap and bent down to splash some water over his face. Lyons was moving stiffly and Clark would bet anything the guy had already taken most of his beating before Clark had even got there.

He sighed and said, "You're welcome." Then as he started towards the door, he paused, turning his head only and saying back, "Call me whatever you want, you know. It won't change anything. I'll see you in English."

Then he opened the door and left. 

***

"I made a mistake today."

Lex turned his head away from the screen, his character dying in a rain of video game gunfire. He stared at Clark with his eyebrows raised, and Clark thought that if he x-rayed Lex's head at that moment, he would be able to actually see Lex suppressing his surprise.

"What do you mean?" Lex asked, setting his controller down next to him on the sofa. "What kind of a mistake?"

Clark kept his gaze locked on the television screen, and said, "A stupid one." A deep breath and then, "One that'll cause a lot of questions to be asked about. . . certain things."

He could hear as Lex shifted on the sofa, turning to face him sideways and leaning closer. 

"Is this. . . ? Clark, what are you saying right now?" When Clark smiled a little sadly, Lex added, "I just want to be sure that we're on the same page here."

"I finished a test too quickly," Clark answered. He finally turned to meet Lex's eyes and saw the other man's forehead furrow before smoothing out again. Lex, Lex, Lex, he thought, mentally shaking his head. I don't care if you're confused. Don't you know that by now?

That's why he was telling Lex in the first place. . . so that he wouldn't be confused anymore by all the strange things Clark did. And so Clark wouldn't be so alone with his secret anymore, either. It was win-win for both of them, he thought. Lex would get those answers he was constantly, desperately reaching for, and Clark would. . . Clark would have at least one person on this planet from whom he didn't have to hide.

Lex raised his eyebrows again. "There's nothing wrong with that," he shrugged. "I'm not sure I'm seeing the problem. I mean, you completed it, I know you did a good job on it. . . so why all the worry?"

Clark shook his head at how poorly he was handling this and tried again. "I finished a math test -- a trigonometry test, Lex -- in just over five minutes." When Lex didn't react beyond a slight narrowing of his eyes, Clark clarified even more. "There were 40 questions on there, and I-- "

"And I say there's nothing wrong with being brilliant," Lex interrupted. He had that closed-off expression on his face, though, which Clark knew wasn't a good sign. Lex had looked like that whenever Clark'd had to lie to him back hom-- back in Smallville. 

Clark rolled his eyes and made a sound in his throat. Then, looking straight into Lex's eyes, he said, "It was cheating, to go that fast, and it was stupid. Now Mr. Burke is going to call William and Mary, and tell them that I'm some sort of math prodigy. Luckily though," he said, turning his head away and looking around the room. "Those two'll never do anything about it, so I guess I'll get away with it this time." Clark shook his head and murmured, "Such a stupid thing to do."

"Why is it cheating?" 

Clark jerked his head back to Lex, and saw the suspiciousness replaced with careful curiosity. "Huh?" he asked, startled.

Lex swallowed then asked very deliberately, "Why would it be considered cheating for you to finish that test quickly? You were just. . . using the skills at your disposal. I'll say it again: I see nothing wrong whatsoever with being brilliant." Lex lifted his chin towards the end of his speech, as if in challenge, and Clark wondered just how wide his own eyes could go in surprise.

"But-- " he stuttered. "None of the other kids are-- they can't. . . do what I can do. It isn't fair that I-- "

"It wasn't a competition, though," Lex interrupted. He gestured with his hands, really getting into the argument, and Clark felt something like. . . relief settle into him. 

It felt like. . . part of the weight had lifted off his chest. Lex could know, he thought in wonder. It was real. This was really happening. 

Lex could know. Clark could tell him. . . 

" --in some things, yes," Lex was saying. Clark dragged his attention back and focused on Lex. "Using your natural talent might be considered 'cheating' -- sports, for instance -- but not in academics, Clark." He said the last like he were trying to break some bad news to Clark gently. "You're not-- well," he amended, tipping his head to the side and rolling his eyes, "usually, one is not competing against others in classes. Hmm, ideally, anyway. But, seriously," Lex said, and moved a little closer on the sofa. He reached out and picked up Clark's hands, clasping them securely in his own and looking Clark right in the eyes. "There's nothing wrong with what you did. It was. . . a little careless, I'll admit, but it's nothing we can't fix."

All Clark could do was stare at him, stare at Lex and sigh.

"Clark?" Lex asked, worry tinging his tone slightly. "I'm sorry if what I said. . . contradicted anything you'd been. . . told before, but I truly feel you'd just be selling yourself short if you hid everything you can do. At least, in terms of schoolwork and learning, I would think it okay to shine, to really show how well you can. . . grasp certain complex ideas." Lex smiled a little, self-effacing, and added, "You certainly know enough history by now to teach a course on it, I'd wager."

And Clark laughed, full-out laughed, and squeezed Lex's hands. He grinned and replied, "On ancient Greece and Rome, at least -- maybe a few weeks on Norse mythology and pagan culture, just for kicks."

Lex smirked, and a thumb started slowly moving back and forth across Clark's hand. He didn't know for sure that it was deliberate, but Lex rarely did anything physically that he wasn't completely aware of. The exceptions were those times when he was really stressed and unconsciously ran a hand over his head again and again. So right now, Clark was betting that thumb was the cause of that smirk on Lex's face.

And he had no problem with that at all.


	5. Four

'We're coming up on Saturday, Clark. Please won't you meet us? I called Lex, and he said he'd talk to you about it. He seemed surprised that I'd found his number, but all I had to do was ask my dad. He says 'Hi' by the way. My dad, that is, not Lex. Gabe told me that I needed to be patient and "pro-active," which I think are actually mutually exclusive, but that's my dad for you! :) And I don't care what Pete says, I'm glad Lex moved back to the city. At least there's someone up there you can call a friend.

Pete says to tell you that he's still working on that bike, whatever that means, and that one day you'll have to come to his house so you can see the progress he's made on it. If you don't want to meet at the mall, that's fine too, Clark. Lana and I just thought that would be a good place, where you, Pete, and Whitney could find stuff to do and we could all just kind of. . . hang out together. I'm sorry if it was too soon.

I don't say this enough, and even though it's through an e-mail I'm going to say it now anyway. I love you, Clark. You and Pete are my best friends, my only friends really, and I miss you so much it hurts. Pete's putting on a brave face, but I can tell he feels just as lost without you as I do. He and I are coming up there in four days, and we're going to see you. If I have to pound on your grandparents' door all day, or if I have to hunt you down on the streets of Metropolis, I will. 

I know you're not okay, and I know that partly because of my own baggage and experience, but it's mostly because I know you. I know you, Clark, and I want to be there for you. Being friends means you're never alone, never left to drown without a hand to grasp. So call me, or write me back, or. . . please let us help you. At the very least, you can hear Pete's new stories about the foreign exchange student from Germany we got last month. I mean, they were funny the first few dozen times, but right now I'm pretty sure even the janitor could tell it better.

I miss you, Clark, and I hope to hear from you soon. Tell Lex he's more than welcome to hang out with us, if that's any comfort. You and I can run interference between him and Pete, no problem, right, Clark-bar? :)

I love you, more than you know, and. . . I'm so sorry. 

Love,  
Chloe'

***

" --and overall, let me just say that these were some of the highest grades I've ever given! I am really proud of you, guys. Not a single grade below a C, and I can honestly say that has never happened in my class before." Mr. Burke paused, then, tapping his teeth with a finger in mock-thoughtfulness. "I wonder if that says more about my teaching, or your guys' smarts? Hmmm," he grinned, as most everyone laughed easily.

"Well," Mr. Burke said lightly. "I saved the best for last, so that's all for today!" A few cheers and whoops went up and the teacher just chuckled. "No assignment for today, folks. Tomorrow we'll get back into things, but the rest of the time today is yours. Although," he said, raising his eyebrows, "do try and keep it down. No sense in ruining a perfect day by having to hand out detention slips, eh?"

As soon as Mr. Burke was done talking, Clark dropped his head down on his desk and closed his eyes. He had a book to read, but he didn't feel like it. He closed his eyes and cleared his head and prepared to take a nap when--

"Clark?" whispered a voice above him.

Clark opened his eyes without moving his head and saw Mr. Burke's brown slacks standing in front of him. He dragged his head up and met the teacher's questioning gaze.

"I was wondering if I could speak to you in the hall for a minute," his teacher said.

"Uh, sure," Clark replied, though everything in him longed to say 'No.' He slid out of the desk and Mr. Burke led the way out into the hall. Clark went over to lean against the lockers, staring at the floor tiles and ignoring Mr. Burke's attempts to catch his eyes again.

"Well, Clark," he began. "What I really wanted to ask you is, are you liking this class?" Clark frowned, but still kept his head down. "You don't seem to be very challenged by the material, and I thought perhaps you'd like to be transferred into a higher level course. And there's always the option of taking some college classes, too." Mr. Burke paused, and Clark heard him shifting slightly. "I won't lie to you, I did some checking into the records we have on file from your old school. You did very well there too, but I'm curious why you're pulling so far ahead now. Can you tell me why that is?" he asked, and Clark just kept his eyes on the floor. He just wanted to go back into the room. Why did Burke have to do this now? And why was it Clark's bad luck to get practically the only teacher in the entire school -- the enitre city! -- who gave a damn?

Mr. Burke sighed heavily, then said, "You were in Algebra One back at your old school -- Smallville High?" and Clark felt himself flinch a little at the name. "I'm just concerned that maybe-- "

"I'm just good at it," Clark interrupted. Eyes on the stained tile to his left, he added, "Things were different back home." He shrugged, then licked his lips. "May I go back inside now?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah," Mr. Burke stammered out. "Sure, Clark, that's fine. No pressure." He gave a weak little laugh, and Clark resisted the urge to wince at the awkwardness of the situation. Turning around, Clark opened the door and walked back to his desk, dropping his head back onto his arms and closing his eyes again.

***

"Clark Kent, isn't it?"

He looked up from the computer screen and met the nervous eyes of the girl standing in front of him. 

"Yeah?" he asked, eyes going back to the screen.

"I, uh, I. . . don't know if you remember me, or not, but we kinda met awhile ago." The girl hiked the strap of her book bag higher onto her shoulders, then said, "Well, I mean, you introduced yourself, but I didn't get a chance to-- "

"I remember," he interrupted, meeting her eyes again. Then he shrugged and put on a smile. "Besides, I already know who you are. We're in the same history class."

She blushed and futzed with her bag again. "I-- I know. You sit two rows over and one ahead of me. I-- look," she said, a little more confidently. She gave a little embarrassed smile, then continued. "I don't do this sort of thing -- coming up to boys and asking them-- uh, asking them out, but-- " The blush on her cheeks turned bright red and some part of Clark empathized with her at that moment. 

"I'm sorry," he said, interrupting her again. He sighed, then held her gaze and said, "When I say, 'I'm not interested,' I don't want you to take it the wrong way." Her face fell and she started to turn away, but Clark got to his feet, dropping a hand gently down on her arm and forcing her to stop. She just stared at his hand sadly, and Clark rushed to explain to her.

"You seem very kind and I know you're smart," he said, watching her glance up at him in confusion before ducking her eyes again in mortification. "You always take notes in class, and last week you looked pleased with your grade on that chapter eight test." Her lips quirked a little and Clark sighed again, sadly. "But. . . I'm not the guy for you, Adrianne." Her head jerked up at her name, and Clark put on another little knowing smile for her. "I'm not exactly. . . in a good place right now. And I'm, well, I'm kinda . . . dancing around something with somebody else."

Deep breath in, and Clark said, "It's a guy, and I don't know whether anything'll come of it, or not, but. . . " He drifted off, holding Adrianne's surprised eyes and waiting for the brush-off and her madly running away in disgust.

But she just took a deep breath, breathed it out, and squared her shoulders. Looking back up at him again, Adrianne said, "Well, too bad for me then," in a sad voice. Then, with admirable poise, she added, "But don't think I didn't notice your expression when we got our tests back."

Clark frowned, calling up the memory of that day, but Adrianne interrupted him with, "Like the cat that ate the canary, as my grandma always used to say. I saw that smile!" she teased, grinning at him and lifting her hand to waggle a finger at him.

Clark just smiled in confusion, wondering how fast this conversation could turn around again. She was still here, and Clark hadn't felt this off-balance and tongue-tied since. . .

. . . Smallville. Lana. Chloe. Even Lex back there had seemed harder to talk to.

Clark looked back down at Adrianne and smiled. "Well, I did get a 100. I'd say that's reason enough to smirk, any day."

She huffed, then swatted his arm away in mock indignation. "A 100? Man, I missed one! I only got a 98!"

Clark chuckled, and they both jumped a little when the bell rang. He reached down to pick up his bag, and then the two of them started off towards the doors of the library.

"So what do you have now?" Adrianne asked, moving ahead of him to pass through first into the crowded hallway.

"English," Clark replied. He had to pitch his voice a little louder to be heard over the noise.

"You don't have Jenks, do you?" she asked with a grimace. "The girl who sits next to me in Chemistry said she had him last year, and he was just awful! I'm glad I got Mrs. Burge, 'cause she's real easy-going."

Clark shook his head, and pushed through the crowd to walk beside her. "No," he said. "I got stuck with Jenks."

"Oh, that sucks!" she sympathized. "I have P.E. now, though, if that makes you feel any better?" She looked up at him with wide eyes and he could see her trying not to smile.

He made a sound in his throat, then replied, "Yeah, well at least I won't be the only one suffering for the next 50 minutes."

"There you go!" she exclaimed. "Way to be positive, Clark. Soon you'll be singing showtunes about the sun coming up, and betting your bottom dollar!" Adrianne laughed then, high and strong, and Clark felt himself grin.

***

"I've never had Japanese food before," he said around a mouthful of tofu.

Lex finished taking a sip of his water then replied, "Well, soon you'll be able to put that goal to bed." He smiled warmly, and Clark quickly ducked his head to get another spoonful of the soup before he embarrassed himself by blushing.

Lex leaned back in the booth, and when he stretched his legs out one of his boots bumped into Clark. "Sorry," Lex murmured, and the boot moved away. Clark felt kinda sad, but he just drowned it in more tofu soup, or whatever this stuff was called. It had green onions in it. . . and tofu, and it was really very good, but he didn't know the name for it.

"So how was today?" Lex asked quietly. Clark captured his last floating square of tofu, then looked up to meet Lex's concerned expression.

He shrugged, setting his spoon down and sliding his empty bowl next to Lex's. "Okay. It was. . . an okay day."

"Good," Lex said, his smile sad. "I received an interesting phone call the other night," he began. "A certain friend of yours called me up and told me to talk to you. 'Tell that stupid oaf I'm not some flighty bimbo,' I think were her exact words." He gave in to his smirk, and Clark rolled his eyes and slouched down farther into the booth. He resisted moving his leg to the left, knowing that his left leg was only a few inches away from Lex's.

"Yeah," Clark said. "She wrote about it in an e-mail." He hesitated, then looked up to meet Lex's eyes. "She and Pete are, uh, coming up on Saturday. They want to meet up somewhere. I'm supposed to get back to her with where."

Lex's face was inscrutable. Clark had no idea what the man was thinking, but he hazarded a guess and asked, "Are you busy that day?"

Lex frowned slightly, and Clark just raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"As a matter of fact, I'm not," Lex answered. There was confusion in his voice, and Clark thought it might be the theme of his life lately. Confusion and sadness, guilt and disappointment. . .

"You wanna come with, then?" he asked. "Lex, I'd-- " He stuttered to a stop and dropped his head as their waitress came gliding over, their dishes on a tray held aloft by one graceful hand. She gently set down Clark's dishes in front of him, then slid Lex's plate over to him with a sultry smile. 

"Let me know if I can get you anything else, okay?" she told them, but her eyes were pinned on Lex.

"Yeah, thanks," Clark said, causing her to glance over at him before slipping away like a dancer. When he turned his eyes back to Lex, Clark saw the man smiling into his food. "Lex?" he said, and breathed out slowly when Lex looked up at him.

"Hmm?"

"Would you come with me on Saturday?"

Lex nodded, a serious look on his face. "Sure, Clark. I'd be happy to." Then he smiled wickedly, saying, "Tell you what, you keep Pete busy, and I'll make sure not to leave you alone with Chloe. Sound good?" He ended the sentence by taking a bite of something dark and green and. . . slimy-looking. 

Clark cringed, eyes on Lex's plate. "Yeah, it's a deal. Maybe she won't screech at me too much if you and Pete are there. Lex," he said, "I gotta ask, what the hell is that you're eating?"

His reply was an evil smirk, and Clark would swear that at that moment Lex's eyes turned silver in glee. Fascinated, he leaned closer, looking over Lex's face and noticing some freckles that'd escaped his notice -- right under Lex's right eye, scattered across in a sort of trail -- and the way Lex's eyes crinkled when he grinned.

"Sushi," Lex said, and Clark blinked. Realizing he'd been staring, he dropped his eyes down to his own food, picking up his chopsticks clumsily and attempting to get a piece of chicken into his mouth. Lex clicked his tongue, then leaned over the table and grabbed up Clark's hand with both of his own.

"You're holding them wrong," he told him. "First start with this one, then set the other one here and. . . here," Lex said, manipulating Clark's fingers smoothly around the chopsticks. "Voila! Now you can eat Japanese cuisine." He moved back slowly, holding Clark's gaze steadily.

They really do look silver in this light, Clark thought, staring into Lex's eyes. He went back to eating though, and thought he could actually feel Lex's smirk that time.

Later, about halfway through eating his Green Tea ice cream, Clark gathered up all his courage and. . . 

. . .slid his left foot across the floor a few inches. His leg bumped into Lex's and he left it there, not looking up but just steadily eating his ice cream. He felt it, though, when Lex's leg leaned more onto his, and Clark smiled.

Like the cat that ate the canary.

***

'How about Center Park? Like, ten o'clock by the main fountain?

Lex and I will be waiting.

And, Chloe. . . I love you, too. And I'm looking forward to seeing you (and getting chewed out). :)

I'll see you then, friend.

Love,  
Clark'


	6. Five

"You don't want me there anyway," Clark doggedly said. "I don't see why I have to stand in the corner of some party where I don't know anyone and no one wants to talk to me." He kept his head down and his eyes on the floor, but Clark could still tell where William was in the room just by the loud, angry rasps of breath. Mary's were the quick, shallow ones over by the window.

"You'll be there, and that's final," William said. "Seven sharp. Now please excuse us." 

There was a tense silence and Clark just shook his head and strode out of the study. On the way up to his room, he refused to mutter to himself, actively forced himself not to let it matter. It wasn't important. It was no big deal. One night standing around was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

It shouldn't matter, he kept thinking, but it did. And it hurt.

It'd been almost two months since. . .

. . .since he'd come to live with William and Mary. And it seemed like an entire lifetime away from Smallville. This was someone else's life he was living, not his. Not Clark Kent's.

William's birthday was Saturday. He was having a party downstairs in celebration, and Clark had thought it worth the effort to beg off. So he'd pleaded his case, made his argument in true lawyer style. He'd even caught Mary stifling a smile behind her hand at one point, and had thought it a done deal.

But not to William, it wasn't. He wanted Clark there for some stupid reason, and so Clark had to go. Had to dress in a suit and stand around waiting for someone -- anyone -- to just talk to him. Look at him and smile, or say, 'Oh, excuse me! I didn't see you there!'

He hated going to these things. Two weeks ago, they'd dragged him to someone's niece's coming-out party -- he'd had to ask Lex what the hell they meant by that because what he'd been thinking turned out to be completely wrong! -- and Clark had spent the entire time taste-testing the ginger ale. He'd tried the punch, but it'd been far too sweet and there were four different kinds of ginger ale being offered. Sounded like a challenge to him, but William didn't find it funny. He'd waited until they got back to the house before telling Clark to 'quit acting like a child in front of my colleagues.'

Clark replied that it wasn't his fault no one wanted to talk to him, and that maybe he should just sit the next one out. William had stared at him for a moment before saying a terse 'No' and closing the door to his study.

He had a paper due tomorrow for English. It was supposed to be a partnered project, but Clark had realized right away that his partner wouldn't be coming through. No big surprise there really, and it wasn't like the two of them had ever been on good terms. Clark had just looked at Mr. Jenks and sighed. He had to hand it to the teacher. At least he'd looked sad about dumping Lyons on Clark. Jenks had to have known that was a really bad idea, but he still hadn't done anything about it.

So now Clark had four pages of summary and analysis to write for his part of the assignment, and three pages of societal context and historical background on the author for Lyons' share. They'd been given the assignment a week ago, but Clark hadn't done anything on it. He'd never been one to procrastinate, never would have gotten away with it at home, but these days it was like he couldn't even make himself want to do anything. Even when he knew his grade kinda needed a big A like this one, Clark couldn't get started. He aced all his tests, all his pop-quizzes and exams and in-class assignments. But he never turned in any homework, and he was starting to get the impression Jenks was kinda pissed at him. The teacher would hand back the graded assignments at the beginning of class. When he'd pass Clark by, Jenks would always look at him funny. . . like he was trying to figure out how the hell Clark never did any homework and still managed to get a B.

If Clark called Lex. . . 

But Lex probably wouldn't get it. He'd always been so ambitious and motivated. And Lex was a genius and really charismatic. He wouldn't understand that Clark just couldn't do anything. It was like a mental block. When he was alone, he just. . .

He had a bunch of books he was reading -- trying to read. Nine, at last count, and he hadn't gotten any further than the 30th page in any of them. He tried watching movies or surfing the net, or. . .

But nothing worked. He couldn't do anything. At school, he was okay. With Lex or Chloe or Pete, he was fine. He managed to concentrate and even contribute a few ideas to the conversations. 

But when he was alone. . . well, Clark had been walking a lot lately. It was just around the city, and he never had a set path or route or anything. He just walked around. Before school, afterwards, after dinner with Mary, at night when he couldn't sleep. . . he walked and watched and wondered when he'd feel something again.

Chloe said he'd lost weight, but Clark knew it wasn't true. He looked exactly the same as he always had, save his hair was a little longer than usual because he wasn't getting it cut by his m-- . . .wasn't having it cut every two weeks. Like he had before. But he couldn't gain weight and he couldn't lose any, either, so Chloe was just being melodramatic.

Pete had given him a hug and punched his arm. He'd brought some of his mom's fudge and Clark had forced a smile and told Pete to pass along his thanks. And there hadn't even been a problem between Pete and Lex the whole day. They'd nodded at each other calmly in greeting, and later Pete told Lex goodbye with a 'take it easy, man,' as if they were two buddies just hanging out. Chloe had hugged Clark, rocked him for a bit in the circle of her arms, and he'd almost felt peaceful.

After Pete and Chloe left for the long drive back to Smallville, Lex had invited him over to his place again. They'd watched an advanced copy of 'The Fellowship of the Ring' DVD and at the end of the night, Lex had hugged him.

It felt like. . . 

And he couldn't help comparing that hug to all the others he'd had over the years. The ones from his school teachers, all close and proud and very impersonal. Or the hugs from Pete's mom and dad, even Gabe Sullivan had hugged him a couple times, which had been comforting and had made him feel appreciated and needed. . . if only a little. The hugs from Chloe, the hugs from Lana. . . they had made him feel important and strong and. . . sometimes liked. The few times Pete had hugged him, it'd felt like what he imagined having a brother would.

And. . . Dad's. . . hugs, made him feel like. . .

had made him feel like he was at times grown up, and at others like he was still four years old and wrapped up in his father's brown, lambskin coat. Mom's had been like being saved every time, like he was always forgiven and the slate wiped clean. Like nothing could stain him while she held him.

But Lex's didn't feel like any of those hugs. The word embrace came to mind, something grand and all-encompassing, warm, hot, deep and meaningful. Where before Clark had felt needed, appreciated, loved. . . with Lex he felt wanted, seen, acknowledged. Equal.

With Lex's arms around him, with his body holding and surrounding him. . . Clark felt

Alive.

***

"You doin' anything this weekend?" Adrianne asked. She lifted her arm up and pointed out a table on the left. "There okay?"

Clark nodded and began carefully threading his way through the crowded cafeteria. He waited until they'd set their trays down before answering her question. "Just some party I have to go to."

She perked up a little, smiling nervously at him across the table. "Party? Like, what kind of party?"

Clark smiled. "Not the kind you're hoping for. My guardian, William, his birthday is this Saturday so he's having a party." He made a face at his tater tot casserole and began stabbing at it with his fork. "A bunch of rich old people chatting and gossiping and raising their noses, all while smiling and drinking like fish."

When he looked up, Clark saw Adrianne wearing a confused, sad expression. "What?" he asked her softly.

"Your. . . guardian?" she asked hesitantly, slowly meeting his eyes. 

"Yeah," he replied. He picked up his juice and said around the bottle, "My parents are dead."

"Oh," Adrianne breathed, dropping her eyes back down to her tray. "I didn't know. I'm sorry, Clark."

He shrugged and arched an eyebrow. "No way you could've. William and Mary, his wife," he clarified. "They're my mom's parents and when. . . well, they took me in. . . after." Adrianne gave him a nod of understanding and a tentative smile, encouraging him. Clark rolled his eyes and said, "And William's this big corporate lawyer or something, so they're like super rich." He stabbed another tater tot, pretending to be distracted by the few people who'd just sat down near them.

"How long, uh, how long have you. . . been with them?"

"A couple months," Clark replied.

"Oh," Adrianne said. "So when you said you were new too, you meant really new, didn't you?" She smiled at him again and Clark felt himself relax a little more.

"Yeah," he said. "Like, just-got-into-town-three-days-before-coming-here new."

She chuckled and began eating her corn. "So these rich people parties, are they like, boring or just. . . tedious?"

"Um, both?" Clark mused. "Seriously, everyone there is like one step away from being the cliched rich person. I keep waiting for one of those women to bring in a little dog or something, you know?" And Adrianne giggled. "Fluffy. . . or Sir Minces, some crap like that."

She was laughing now, and Clark grinned. "Oh, you're killing me here!" Adrianne exclaimed, setting her fork down and putting a hand to her forehead. "They can't be that bad, can they?"

He shook his head and sighed. "Naw, it's just. . . " He hesitated, looking for the right words. "They're all so into themselves, you know? And everything is just for show. All the dresses and tuxes and jewelry and stuff, it's all just so they can look better than the next person." Clark paused, watching Adrianne's face as he said the next part. "And they talk bad about each other, like, all this horrible, horrible, just mean stuff, and then. . . two minutes later, they'll be gossiping with someone they just dissed. All behind their hands, like that makes it okay." He sighed and picked up his juice, finishing it off in a couple swallows. Adrianne had somehow managed to polish off everything on her tray, including the weird tater tot casserole. Looking down, Clark saw his tray was still full and tried to sort of hide it by crossing his arms over top of it.

Adrianne smiled ruefully, tilting her head to the side and meeting his eyes. "Hate to break it to ya, Clark, but a lot of people are like that, not just the rich. Take church-goers for example. I mean, sure, you get some really nice, truly thoughtful people once in awhile. . . people that actually are Christians, but a lot of them?" She shook her head, lines on her forehead appearing as she frowned. "They're just there because it's expected. It's 'the thing to do,' and all their enjoyment comes from cutting people down and making fun of them. Or just gossiping like crazy."

"I guess," Clark hedged. 

"Your parents were good people, weren't they?"

He looked up quickly, assessing the look in her eyes before answering. "Yeah. Yeah, they were great people."

Adrianne nodded. "And they taught you to be like that, too, I can tell." Clark smiled a little, caught off guard as to how to respond to the seeming compliment. But she just continued, saying, "But a lot of people don't care about that stuff, I've found. And then their kids learn that it's all right not to care either, and that's how we get cheerleaders and jocks."

Clark laughed loudly and Adrianne joined him after a moment.

"All that build-up," he said, still chuckling. "Just to get in one against the popular kids."

She winked at him, grinning. "I never said I was a good person."

Clark looked at her seriously for a moment. "Oh, I think you are, Adrianne," he argued, and watched as she blushed at the compliment.

***

Well, Clark had to hand it to the man. William sure knew how to make his 'friends' happy. The party'd been going strong for over three hours and no one seemed to be angry or bitter yet. Lots of laughing, smiling people, and Clark wondered for how long he could disappear before anyone missed him.

Before William noticed he was gone. Or Mary. He wouldn't put it past her to go and tell her husband on him if he snuck off.

Clark was leaning back against the wall in a corner of the big room. William didn't have any ginger ale on the menu -- and Clark had smiled when the waiter told him that -- so he'd stuck with punch. . . even if it were too sweet.

He scanned the room again, spotting William over by the fireplace and Mary farther towards the dining room. But when he turned his head back, Clark's breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed a pale, bald head in amongst the crowd of people. He pushed away from the wall, stretching up to see over heads and hair piled up high. Back and forth, back and forth he looked but couldn't find him. It was probably just your imagination, Kent, he told himself. You're so bored, you're daydreaming.

He looked around once more, gearing up to make a break for it, when-- 

"Who are we looking for?" asked a deep voice to his left.

Clark startled and jerked, causing a little of the blood red punch to spill on his hands. He turned his head and smiled, relieved.

"Not to worry," he said. "I've found him."

Lex nodded and smirked, and Clark settled back against the wall once more. He nodded his head towards the glass in Lex's hand, and asked, "Whatcha drinkin'?"

Lex held it up, pretending to have just realized it was there. Clark chuckled at the shocked expression on Lex's face, and took a sip of his punch. "Oh, this?" Lex asked. "Bourbon, I hope. Though the bartender was rather busy when I placed my request. Perhaps I was given the lady's schnapps by mistake." Clark snorted and raised a hand to cover his laughter. Lex made a face as he took a sip of the alcohol, his nose wrinkling up and his eyes narrowing in contemplation. "I thought it tasted funny," he finally said after awhile, and Clark gave up on being discreet.

He laughed out loud, causing some ladies nearby to turn and look at him. Well, he thought, meeting their cold eyes head on, at least they can see me now. Looking back at Lex, he saw the other man had also taken in the women, as he was still staring at them. Lex gazed steadily at those women until they huffed and pointedly turned their heads away. And then Clark saw Lex smile wickedly before turning to meet Clark's amused eyes.

"You want to go for a little walk?" he asked Clark quietly. And Clark nodded gratefully.

"Yeah," he said, searching out William across the room. Still talking with the mayor, and not looking to be done any time soon. "Yeah, let's get out of here." And Lex's smile was just as welcome, and infinitely warmer than his last one. 

***

"So how'd you get the invitation?" Clark asked. He scuffed his feet in the grass, enjoying the soft, yet prickly feel of it in between his toes. Lex had suggested the park down the street, and when they'd arrived, he'd bent over right away and started untying his shoes. "No one here but us, looks like," he'd said. "Care to join me for a late night stroll, Kent?" And he'd had that warm, open look on his face.

"Well," Lex said. "Your grandfather often does work for Luthorcorp -- business mergers and the like. And he always sends out invites to the CEO." Lex gave Clark a small smirk after saying that, and Clark wondered how often he felt he had to make excuses for Lionel. "But my father is out of the country at the moment, so who better to accept William Clark's invitation than the. . . VP?"

"Whoa! You got it?" Clark stopped Lex with a hand on his arm. "Congratulations, Lex!" he exclaimed, grabbing the man up and hugging him.

Lex was sort of stiff in his arms and Clark slowly realized what was happening.

They were alone in the park, with their shoes off. They were skipping out on a party and talking in low tones. 

Clark turned his head slightly and made eye contact again. Under the stars, he could still see just how pale Lex's eyes were. . . and how blue here, in this dim light. 

"Lex?" he whispered, and slowly those eyes lit up.

"How was today?" Lex asked in a low voice. Clark's arms were still around him, and he felt it when Lex started to hug him back. His arms slid around Clark's waist and tightened, pulling him closer and closer until there was barely any space between them.

"Okay," Clark answered. Then, breathing in for courage, he said, "Better, now that you're here."

Lex smiled. "It runs both ways, you know," he whispered. "This, this here. . . with you. . . this is the best part of my day, Clark."

"I know," he replied, because he did. 

And then Clark leaned down and closed the final gap between them.


	7. Six

"You're amazing," Lex whispered as they pulled back.

Clark smiled and ducked his head, and Lex just chuckled. "So, not a total lack of technique?" Clark asked.

Lex shook his head, moving a hand up to cup Clark's cheek. "You still surprise me," he said quietly, almost frowning as he stared at Clark's face. "Continually, if that's not a contradiction in terms." He smiled and met Clark's eyes. "And how long have you been plotting that?" Lex asked, playfully.

Clark shrugged, grinning. "It was more of a. . . spur-of-the-moment type thing. I just went with it."

"Mmmm," Lex agreed. "As for your earlier question, the answer is, 'No.'" Clark frowned in confusion, and Lex clarified with, "It was far from a 'total lack of technique.'"

"Good to know," Clark mumbled in reply.

"But," and he paused, his eyes drifting down to Clark's mouth. "I do think you need all the practice you can get. You know what they say, Clark: practice makes perfect."

Clark grinned and lowered his head, his lips a breath away from Lex's.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be anything less than perfect," he agreed, pushing himself as close to Lex as he could get. Lex's hand was still on his cheek, resting there like a part of him.

***

"Why do you buy cafeteria lunches if you never eat them?"

"Huh?" Clark stuttered, turning back to Adrianne. "What'd you say?"

She shook her head and took another bite of her pizza. Chewing, Adrianne just stared at him until she'd swallowed her bite. Then, nodding at Clark's full tray, she said, "I asked why you bought a lunch here every day, when you never eat it."

"Oh, I, uh-- " He shrugged and dropped his eyes. "Just not very hungry. The cook back at the house always makes a lot of food in the mornings, so I, uh, eat then and I guess. . . when lunch rolls around, I'm usually still pretty full." Clark smiled at her, gesturing at his pizza slice. "It's all yours, if you want. About the only thing worth eating here today."

Adrianne just stared at him for a moment longer, then bit her lip and snatched up the pizza.

"You're not a cannibal, are you?" she asked, mouth half-full.

"What?" he laughed out.

She grinned and said, "You're always giving me parts of your lunches, and then you sit there and basically watch me eat. I'm wondering. . . if maybe you're fattening me up, you know, to eat."

Clark laughed, full-out laughed, and shook his head. "No," he said, after he'd managed to calm down. "No, that's not my plan at all. See," and he leaned closer to her over the table. "I'm the kinda guy who gives and gives and gives. And then, when you're so indebted to me, what, with all the food-giving and such, I ask you for a favor."

She nodded her head and shoved the last bite into her mouth. After swallowing, Adrianne asked, "So you're sorta like the Godfather? Only, instead of money or nice things. . . you give me lots of food?"

He laughed again, nodding. "Exactly," he agreed, grinning. He made a face, and said in a scratchy voice, "'Make you an offer you can't refuse. . . '"

Adrianne laughed loudly, causing several people nearby to turn their heads. She clapped her hands together in delight. "That was perfect, Clark! Wow, that's the best impression I've seen anyone do!"

She smiled and finished off her milk, shaking her head and smiling at him.

"You should be an actor," Adrianne told him a moment later, while they waited in line to drop off their trays. She looked at Clark from out of the corner of her eye. "You almost had me fooled back there."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "With the Marlon Brando voice?"

She was next in line, so Adrianne faced front again, and said quietly, "No, I mean that line about a big breakfast."

He was frozen for a moment. Literally, he just stood there until the kid behind him nudged him in the back with a, "Come on, dude." Adrianne was waiting for him by the doors, once he'd set his tray down on the rack in the corner. She wasn't smiling and Clark felt like a total jerk.

The two of them started walking down the hall towards their lockers. Finally, he stopped her with a hand on her arm, and said, "I'm sorry."

Adrianne just met his eyes and sighed. "You don't have to pretend that everything's perfect, you know," she told him. "It's-- it's all right to be sad. Just. . . please, don't lie to me." There were no tears in her eyes, her breath didn't catch, but Clark got the feeling this was a sore spot with Adrianne. If it weren't, he rationalized, she would have just let it go. She wouldn't have called him on it.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Clark said, dropping his hand from her arm. "I'll. . . try not to, in the future."

She smiled. "Now that, I believe." Then, she slapped him on the back and started off down the hall again.

***

"Mr. Kent," Jenks said, pausing at Clark's desk. "Please see me after class." Then he continued up the aisle, handing out papers as he went. He hadn't given Clark one. . . because Clark hadn't done the assignment.

Forty-five minutes later, and he waited until most of the class had already left the room before getting up from his seat. Lyons grinned smarmily at him before strutting out the door, and Clark just took a deep breath and shuffled his way up front to Mr. Jenks' desk.

Jenks was erasing the board, and seemed to take his time making sure every mark was gone before turning around. But when he did, it was without any games. Jenks just looked Clark straight in the eye and asked, "Why are you here, Kent?"

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Here, in this class, in this school. Why are you here?"

Clark shifted his books in his arms and focused on the corner of Jenks' desk. He swallowed a couple of times, somehow hoping that if he just didn't answer, the teacher would forget about him and turn back to the board.

"Kent," Jenks said, sounding a little more irritated. A little louder. "You gonna stand there, or are you going to answer the question?"

Clark swallowed again before saying, just loud enough to be heard correctly, "I'm here because I am, sir." He raised his eyes and met Jenks' harsh stare dead-on. "Just the way things are."

Jenks pursed his mouth and nodded distractedly. "And why you do only half the work, is that 'just the way things are,' as well?"

"No, sir," Clark replied. He rolled his shoulders back and did his best approximation of Lex's smirk. "I do what's necessary for the betterment of my own learning."

An incredulous raising of eyebrows was the response to his remark, and Clark wondered why the hell he was doing this.

"So slacking off is teaching you something, is that it? Well," Jenks said, sarcastically. "Far be it from me to intrude upon your educational experience with my teaching!" He threw his hands in the air and breathed out heavily. "Look, Kent, you're a smart kid, okay? I get that, I really do." He rested his hands palm-down on the desk and leaned over it, looking into Clark's eyes. There was a strange look on Jenks' face.

Sympathy, maybe? Or was it empathy?

Then, like a switch, the teacher was standing straight again. The corners of his mouth were bracketed with heavy lines, attesting to the large amounts of frowning he did, and his eyes were cold and relentless.

"But there are rules here, rules the other kids try to get out of and around, too. And I take away points from their grades, when they don't complete assignments. When they just don't do the work, there are consequences for them. Do you understand, Kent?"

Clark just looked at him.

And Jenks finally smiled. . . a little. He nodded his head and looked down at his desk, shuffling some papers around. "Well, okay then," he said. One more quick look at Clark, and then Jenks pulled out his chair and sat down. Eyes still on his papers, the man then said, "So you understand and just don't care. Fine. I'll see you tomorrow, Kent."

Clark turned to go and was halfway through the door when Jenks said, "There are always consequences, aren't there, Clark?"

He whirled around, but the man's head was down. His hand was scribbling away at some sheet of paper and it was as though he hadn't spoken at all.

Clark rushed out of there and skipped the rest of his classes that day.

***

That night, he went back to Smallville.

Clark opened his bedroom window and climbed out. He felt almost like a normal teenager, sneaking out in the dead of night while the man and woman of the house were fast asleep.

Too bad he wasn't going to some party or secret rendezvous. The thought of Lex flickered past, but Clark pushed it away, along with any sense of normality. He took off down the quiet street, rushing by large, expensive houses, into the commercial district and out the other side. He pushed through the grime and despair of the Slums, finally hitting the outskirts of the city and sliding by the suburbs. Then, it was fields, endless fields and farms and empty highway. Clark ran and ran and never felt real. He was dreaming; he was asleep. None of this was real; he couldn't feel. . . anything.

He stopped about a mile back from it. He'd passed Lex's castle, cutting through the Piersons' farm like he always used to.

It already belonged to somebody else, he saw, when he got close enough to home. A different sign hung from the beams, proclaiming this someone else's farm now, but all Clark saw was the new vehicles parked in the driveway. There was a family living in the house -- a young man and woman, two children, asleep in their beds like they'd always lived there.

There were new things, and things that'd had to be rebuilt, too. After the. . . explosion. But Dad's tractor was still resting near the barn. Mom's flowers were starting to peek up in their beds again. But now there was a dog lying on the front porch. Its eyes were open and its head raised, but it didn't growl at him. He was tempted to climb those steps again, perhaps pet that dog into silence and push silently into the house. . . see what else they'd changed in there.

But he didn't. Instead, Clark turned away and walked to the barn. He opened a door and slid through, careful of making any noise. There were animals in there now. The steps up to the loft were cluttered with debris.

And nothing was the same.

The thought came to him once he'd reached the top. Nothing here really remains, he realized. Dad was never his tractor, and Mom loved those flowers. . . but they were nothing with her gone. His parents weren't here, and they never would be. Ever again.

He crossed the floor of the loft, and flung open the wide doors. The dog started barking at the noise, but it didn't matter. He'd be gone soon enough, anyway.

Stars were constant. They were always in the same place at the same time. You just had to know where to look for them.

A clattering outside, and Clark heard the doors to the barn being jerked open.

"Somebody in here?!" a voice demanded, and he heard the fear and anger in it.

This wasn't home anymore, not for him. Someone else had taken his Place, and now he had to find a new one. Eyes on the stars, Clark leapt from the window and ran.

Two homes lost, he thought. Maybe the third time would be the charm, like they always said.


	8. Seven

He stopped at Clark's desk, ruffling through the papers in his hand before setting one down in front of him.

"Congratulations, Kent," Jenks said, and Clark looked up. "Nice job on that one." He started moving down the row again, his voice drifting back over his shoulder. "Keep it up. . . "

And when Clark realized he was smiling to himself, he stopped, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. Lyons just stared right back at him, angry confusion written on his face as clear as glass.

Clark turned his head back to the front, smiling again.

***

"I thought, first, we'd try you in advanced classes," Mr. Burke said. He slid a pamphlet in front of Clark, tapping with his finger at the relevant sections. "Maybe a few weeks, just to get your bearings?"

Clark nodded, scribbling down some of the information for when Lex grilled him about it later.

"And then-- Clark," the teacher said, stopping suddenly as though something had just occurred to him. Mr. Burke did that a lot. He'd stop in the middle of a lecture to tell a joke he'd just remembered, or share what he'd done with his weekend at the start of every Monday's class.

Clark liked it. It made it more fun and less tedious, more informal and companionable.

"Are you at all interested in summer school?" Burke asked him. At Clark's blank look, he went on. "Because I know Met U has a few courses you'd be eligible to take. Get some college credit, see what catches your eye. . . in terms of major study, I mean," he stuttered out. Clark smiled and chuckled, enjoying the teacher's discomfiture.

"I, uh, I haven't really thought about it," he said, setting his pen down on top of his notes. "I just never-- I didn't think it'd come up so soon, I guess." And he glanced over at Mr. Burke, nervously.

But the teacher just nodded understandingly, and set the rest of his pamphlets down. He took the desk across the aisle from Clark, easing into it with a sigh. Then he met Clark's eyes again with a smile.

"Understandable, really," Burke reassured him. "You said you'd never really pushed yourself, and now you are. Taking upperclassmen level courses must seem like jumping the gun, but I hear you're doing very well overall." He raised his eyebrows, then said, "Though your English could do with a little more work, or so I've overheard."

Clark blushed, ducking his head and shuffling his papers around.

"Clark," Mr. Burke said quietly, but Clark kept his head down. There was a sigh, and then the teacher said, "I know this hasn't been brought up by any of your other teachers, mainly because I asked them to leave it to me." Clark risked a glance over at the man's face, not liking the sad look he saw there. He'd seen that look before, a lot recently, and it never boded well.

It always meant the person wearing it was about to say something Clark most certainly didn't want to hear. . . or talk about.

"Clark," Mr. Burke asked softy, "have you. . . talked to anyone?" Clark played dumb and kept his eyes on his own hands. "A counselor or. . . therapist, maybe?"

He could tell Mr. Burke was concerned, genuinely concerned and not just faking it or going through the motions. And the guy was a great teacher, really nice and understanding and he was going out of his way, helping Clark like this with his classes.

But that didn't change how it made Clark feel to have someone else butt into his life. And with this, with him bringing up what had happened like that, just spur of the moment and out of nowhere, Clark was having a hard time even staying in his seat.

He wanted to get up and just walk away, throw those pamphlets and stupid notes in the trash and tell everyone that he was fine just like he was. They could all just leave him alone, and go fuck themselves. He didn't need them sticking their noses in things they wouldn't ever be able to understand.

But Clark did stay put. He kept his eyes on his hands and focused on breathing in and out steadily. When he was able to take a deep breath without seeing red, Clark looked over at Mr. Burke, hoping against hope the teacher wasn't staring at him like he was a freak.

Mr. Burke gave him a sad smile, and Clark felt like he'd narrowly avoided some catastrophe.

"I-- I have someone," he stuttered out. "Someone I can talk to. About. . . things."

Burke nodded. "Good," he said. "I'm very relieved to hear that. You shouldn't be alone in this, Clark." He smiled again, and it was a happier one by far. "I'm no good at this kind of stuff, as you can tell, but. . . if you. . . ever need anything, any help or advice or. . . anything, I'm here. I practically live here," he said, glancing around the room fondly. He chuckled, and Clark smiled a bit, wondering how true that was. He had the feeling Mr. Burke did lead a pretty solitary life.

"Thank you," Clark said, "I'll keep that in mind."

And meant it, too.

***

"So what's this guy done again?" he asked around his mouthful of pizza, staring at the television like it'd help him out and make the movie less convoluted and difficult to follow.

"He sold someone bad cocaine," Lex replied. He reached over to snag a pepperoni off the top of a slice still in the box, and Clark slapped at his hand. Lex turned wounded eyes on him.

Clark laughed, bumping his knee against his. "You've done that to practically every piece already," he teased. "I'd like to eat one slice that doesn't look like it's been dissected and mauled."

Lex jerked his head back, scowling, but his lips twitched, so Clark knew he was just being a big faker.

"Hey," Lex said, settling back into the sofa and taking a sip of his soda. "Who wanted pepperoni, hmmm? Not I. The least you could do is let me have the few rounds I do want."

"No, no," Clark argued. "You like pepperoni, I know you do. And I even told them to put black olives and green peppers on half of it just for you because that's how you always eat it. And what do you do?" He narrowed his eyes in mock frustration. "You ignore that half and pick all the pepperoni off the other!" Clark turned back to the box, gesturing with his half-eaten slice of pepperoni, black olive, and green pepper pizza. "Now I'm the one eating this, and you're being a pepperoni hog."

He took another bite of his pizza, making a sad, martyred face at Lex.

Lex rolled his eyes, then grinned as he snatched a round right off the piece in Clark's hand.

"That's it!" Clark exclaimed, tossing what remained of his slice back in the box. Then, eyes on Lex, he slowly leaned closer and closer until he was cross-eyed trying to maintain eye contact. "No more mister nice pizza guy."

He could feel the vibrations from Lex's laughter, right before he cut it off with a kiss.

"Mmmph!"

This time, Clark chuckled, pulling back and biting his lip. Lex licked his own, looking at Clark like he was surprised.

"What?" he asked him, trying to figure out what was going through the man's head.

"I just-- " Then he shook his head and pasted on one of his charming smiles. "It's nothing. I was just thinking how remarkable it is that someone with your outstanding memory can still find it hard to keep track of what's going on in this movie. It's really quite simple, once you get down to it." And Lex turned his head back towards the screen, waving his hand as he geared up for what Clark had dubbed, 'Lex's Lecture Mode.' "See, the guy lives in Stockholm, and one night he goes to a club and sees this beautiful woman dancing and-- "

He stopped Lex with a hand over his mouth. His breath warming Clark's palm, Lex raised an eyebrow and Clark smiled.

"It's not that I'm not interested," he told him. "It's just that it doesn't quite. . . grab my attention as fully as some other things in this room tonight."

Lex tilted his head to the side and furrowed his brow, and Clark rolled his eyes at the man's antics.

"Don't give me that," he said, moving his other hand up to the spot where Lex's neck became his shoulder.

Suddenly Clark's palm started feeling. . . decidedly wet, and he pulled his hand away in a flash.

"Did you just lick me?" he asked, confounded.

Lex grinned, looking pleased with himself. "It made you let go, didn't it?"

"But that's so. . . weird!" Clark protested. "And it probably doesn't taste all that good. . . "

Lex reached over and snagged his soda, swallowing what remained in the can in two swallows. Clark swallowed reflexively, his brain having trouble focusing on anything but Lex's throat all of a sudden.

"Not bad at all," Lex said, dragging Clark's attention back to the discussion. "Like pizza and salt." He met Clark's eyes, and there was heat there. And. . . warmth. "It tasted like you, so. . . not bad at all," he repeated, and it sounded nothing like the first time he'd said it.

"You're very strange," Clark told him, straight-faced.

And Lex nodded, serious expression and all. "Yes, I know.

"But, Clark," he said. "You know what they say, don't you? It takes one to know one."

And Clark smiled and leaned back in.

"That's why we get along so well. . . " he mused aloud, and Lex's arms came up around him.


	9. Eight

What it boiled down to was a question between being selfish. . . or forgetting what he wanted, and being selfless.

He could tell Lex the truth, all the truth, before they went any further. Like he knew Lex would want. Or he could wait, and hope that nothing gave him away. Those were the choices, as he'd figured it, and either way he was damned.

***

"What's wrong?" Lex asked, panting as he pulled back. His hand was just resting on Clark's fly, not making any move to go further at the moment, but Clark could hear the strain in Lex's voice.

"Nothing," he quickly answered. He shook his head, and pasted on a fake smile, sliding his hand down Lex's back. "Nothing's wrong." Then he leaned in, trying to catch Lex's lips in a kiss.

But Lex leaned even farther back, looking at Clark worriedly.

"No," he murmured, frowning and staring at Clark's face. "Something's not right." Lex sighed and dropped his head back down on the arm of the sofa. His hand finally left Clark, drifting away to rest back on his own stomach as he stared up at Clark from his prone position on the couch.

Clark sighed in frustration and sat up. He'd been lying on top of Lex, but scooted onto the edge of the sofa in order to put a little distance between them. Like that would keep Lex's questions at bay.

"Clark," Lex called quietly. "What is it?"

He shook his head again, focusing on the other side of the room and not Lex's concern. He was always so concerned, Lex was, always so understanding and accepting. Now that Clark had been letting some of his. . . 'differences' start showing, Lex never pushed anymore. He never demanded answers or asked for more than Clark let him see.

But how far did that trust go?

"Hey," Lex said, moving to brace himself up on one of his elbows. He reached forward to cup Clark's cheek. "If we're going too fast, just tell me. I won't get. . . mad or anything. You know that, right?" He said the last so quietly, he might have thought it'd be lost to Clark.

But of course Clark's hearing was excellent. And Lex's uncertainty only made him feel worse.

"Yeah, of course," Clark replied. "I just-- I guess we are going. . . a little too fast." His lips twitched, and Lex sort of awkwardly grinned-grimaced with him.

The hand on Clark's cheek moved down to his throat, and Lex ran it up and down and around Clark's shoulders and arm. He nodded.

"Nothing below the waist then," he said, raising his eyebrows and trying to meet Clark's eyes. "We have all the time in the world, Clark. I'm in no rush."

Clark nodded, still keeping his eyes on the far wall across from them. He leaned into Lex's caresses, though, eventually sliding deeper onto the couch. Lex shifted so that he was sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and still petting him in that comforting way.

Clark just didn't know what to do. Tell Lex and watch him run away, or hide it until it was too late and be left with just the memories of the good times. If he waited, there might at least be a few more good times.

But Clark would hate himself for lying to Lex again. Because it was one thing to hide or keep secrets, but it was something else entirely to flat-out lie.

***

"This is so stupid," Lyons muttered. Clark had to agree, and caught himself just before he nodded.

"Let's just do this, and get it over with," he said. "Okay, question one: What was Hester Prynne's--"

"Why don't you just do it all, genius?" Lyons interrupted. He leaned back in his desk, that goddamned smirk twisting his face again. "Mister 'I get an A every time.' Why should I have to do anything? After all, wouldn't want to drag that grade down to a B. Heaven forbid mumsy and daddy see that report card!" He chuckled at his own joke, crossing his arms across his chest.

"It's a partnered assignment," Clark argued. "We only get points if we both do it. It wouldn't be right to just do it all myself. Now come on. What was Hester Pry--"

"You're such a goody-fucking-two shoes, aren't you?" Lyons hissed. "'Fair's fair,'" he said in a mocking voice. Then with a sneer, "I see what you do, you big hypocrite. You think you can just coast along, not do any of the work, and still get a good grade." Lyons huffed again. "Buy your way into some Ivy League without even breaking a sweat," he muttered to himself again, glaring at Clark.

Clark sighed, casting a glance around the room. Everyone else seemed to be making progress, but here he was. . . stuck with Lyons again. Clark regretted his choice to sit down across from the boy on his first day of class, all those weeks ago. Now he was stuck here for the rest of the semester, and Jenks seemed determined to always pair them up. It was cruel.

Clark breathed out deeply, then mentally shrugged and, picking up his pencil again, started filling in the questionnaire. Well, he didn't want to take another F, and Lyons sure as hell wasn't going to cooperate, so. . .

"Oh, I see how it is," he heard Lyons say. "Going back on your word, aren't you? Your mom wouldn't be too proud of you right now, would she?"

The pencil snapped.

He couldn't breathe. Did he need to breathe? some part of him wondered. Could he suffocate? Would he die if he just stopped breathing?

Someone was shaking him, and Clark looked up to see Mr. Jenks' hand on his arm. 

"Kent!" he was saying, over and over again.

"Sorry," Clark whispered. He tried to say something, tried to speak louder, but all that would come out was, "Sorry. Sorry."

"Clark?" the teacher asked, bending down. "Do you need to step outside? Maybe get some fresh air?" Jenks seemed to be hinting at something, but Clark. . . couldn't even remember what he was doing.

He shook his head. "Sorry," he murmured again. With a deep breath, he stood up, forcing Jenks back a step or two. Clark just stood there for a moment, before remembering to start gathering up his things. He drew a blank on the worksheet, only half of it completed.

"Don't worry about it, Clark," Jenks said quietly. He pushed something into Clark's hand and said, "Take this and go to room 1108. Okay?" he asked. "I'll call them and tell 'em you're coming."

Clark looked down and saw it was a pass in his hand. He nodded and slowly started walking.

***

"Hey!" Adrianne called out, laying a hand on his shoulder. Seeing a line of kids behind them, she towed him over to the side. "I was looking for you. You've still got about 15 minutes, if you wanna quick grab something." She gestured towards the lunch line to her right.

Clark just took a deep breath and focused on her shoes.

"Clark?" she asked quietly. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

He looked up and swallowed. "Could we go outside? Just for a. . . little while." He glanced around the cafeteria. "I think I just need some. . . air, or something."

"Yeah," Adrianne replied. "Just wait here, and let me grab my stuff, okay?" She waited until he nodded back, then dashed off.

Clark looked around again while waiting for her. He saw some kids from his science class, and a few from Mr. Burke's Trig course. And over in the corner, sitting under the window and looking right back at him, was Lyons. He met the boy's eyes, and was surprised by what he saw.

Then Adrianne was back, circling his arm with her fingers and pulling him out of the cafeteria.

***

"Clark!" Lex greeted. He looked surprised, and it was no wonder, really. "Why don't we step inside my office, okay? Lanie," he said, addressing the pretty secretary. "No interruptions." And she nodded back at Lex seriously.

Lex pushed him inside the room, making sure the door was secured tightly before turning back around. Then he crossed quickly to Clark's side and gripped him by the shoulders.

"What's wrong? God, Clark, you look like you've seen a ghost." Lex brought a hand up to Clark's face, tilting his head back and peering worriedly into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Lex," he said. And Lex's frown deepened.

"For what? What's happened?"

But there were no words for what he'd done, what he'd brought down upon the people he loved most. Clark shook his head and collapsed onto one of the nearby chairs. Lex was there in an instant, grabbing both of Clark's hands and insistently asking what had happened.

" --if it's those goddamn bullies again! You don't have to go there, to that delinquent-riddled excuse for a school. Clark," he said, his voice changing. Pleading. "Please say something. What happened? Did-- " and he cupped Clark's chin. "Did someone. . . do something? You can tell me," he whispered.

"It's not-- " Clark started, swallowing because of how dry his mouth was. He looked into Lex's eyes and said, "It's not supposed to be like this. Everything's. . . all wrong."

Lex just stared at him in confusion, the fright on his face slowly overtaking every other expression. "Clark, you. . . " But he didn't finish, his mouth hanging open in a loss for words.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Clark said, turning Lex's hand around so he could hold it, squeeze it. Make Lex understand. "Not-- not them."

"No," Lex said suddenly. His voice was hard, but his eyes were wet, and Clark felt like he was standing on the edge. Everything was pushing him, forcing him closer and closer to that cliff.

He was going to fall.

"No, don't think like that," Lex told him, almost begged him. There was pleading in his voice and Clark had never heard him sound like that.

"It should've been me," Clark said, and there was no bottom to this plunge. He couldn't see the bottom, just more and more black. It was here, finally, what he'd been trying so desperately to deny all this time.

It should have been Clark. He wished it had been. Everything was all wrong, the whole world fucked up, all because he was alive and his parents weren't.

Lex brought one hand up to the back of Clark's head. He grabbed him by his hair and then pushed his other hand right over Clark's mouth. He forced eye contact and said, "Never say that again, Clark. You hear me? Don't you ever say that.

"It was an accident," Lex went on, his hands staying right where they were. "It was fate or destiny, or chance. It was not your fault." He shook Clark a little, his eyes bright and searing. "It was not your fault, Clark."

He could feel the tears roll down his face, saw them drop onto Lex's hand.

But he was still falling.

***

"Aren't you tired yet?" Lex murmured into his hair. "You should sleep." His hand was stroking Clark's hair, and his arms were surrounding him, holding Clark as close as he could.

"I don't think I want to sleep tonight," Clark replied. He turned around on the sofa, then, bringing his own hand up to Lex's face. "Can I. . . stay here?" he asked, sucking in a deep breath.

Lex closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. Opening them, he pulled Clark up his body and into a kiss. After a moment, he pulled back, looking in Clark's eyes. "Come with me," he said. Lex got to his feet and held a hand out for Clark.

***

"Is this okay?" Lex asked, kissing the inside of Clark's thigh.

"Yes," he breathed out, closing his eyes as Lex's soft breath puffed around him. Then Lex was holding him inside his mouth, the heat and closeness making Clark cry out. He could feel it. . . everything. Lex's chest against his legs, his arms circling his hips. Lex's lips sliding slowly up his cock.

Lex probed and swallowed and sucked. One hand crept back underneath Clark, and soon there was a finger pressing against him.

"Lex!" he moaned, coming just as Lex's finger pushed inside.

He ran his hand down his chest, feeling the slickness of sweat when he touched Lex's head.

But Clark didn't sweat.

He slithered down to the foot of the bed, too, running his tongue over every part of Lex he could. Over his arms and chest, a kiss to each nipple, a slow dive of his tongue inside Lex's belly button, down his stomach and across his hipbone, Clark touched and tasted them all. He laid his head down on Lex's thigh and closed his eyes.

"Clark," Lex whispered, his hand again smoothing over Clark's hair.

He looked up into Lex's eyes and hated himself for what he was about to do.

But this was home now, and there was no way Clark could turn away when this, this here, was all that kept him from falling deeper into that black hole. Of guilt. Of despair. Of fear.

Of anger.

"My turn," Clark said, watching as Lex's body surged up underneath his hands. Clark took a deep breath, then opened wide.

***

Selfish, he thought to himself. Like always.

But, for now, he had Lex. And later, when it was all over, he'd at least have the memory.


	10. Nine

"Hey, you're eating!" Adrianne exclaimed, grinning as she tried to open her milk carton.

"Yep," Clark agreed, finally putting down his fork and holding out his hand with a sigh. "Give it here," he said. "You're gonna have that everywhere, if you don't stop ripping at it."

"Sure, Mom," she replied sarcastically, placing the milk in his hand. Her snark didn't last long, though, and soon she was back to dimpling at him from across the cafeteria table they'd staked out. When Clark gave her the now-opened carton back, Adrianne batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly and gushed, "Oh, my hero!"

Clark chuckled and tried to disguise his blush by taking a bite of. . . whatever it was they were serving today. Some kind of meat with gravy and. . . were those mushrooms? Salisbury steak, maybe? He didn't care, really. It tasted all right, so that's all that mattered. And living on a farm, one soon developed the essential skill of blocking out just exactly what went into making certain foods. God knew though, to this day Clark still wasn't that big a fan of eggs. 

The two of them happily gobbled up their food quietly for about ten minutes, until they got to dessert. And then, recognizing the look on Adrianne's face -- it was the same one Chloe used whenever she wanted to ask for his help. . . with something meteor-related -- Clark sighed again and swallowed his bite of apple crisp.

"Something on your mind?" he asked.

She started fidgeting, and then, eyes on her tray, Adrianne asked, "Do you-- do you walk home, Clark?"

Uneasy about where this might be going, he paused in his eating and tried to school his face into something resembling detached calm. He didn't think he did a very good job of it.

"Uh, yeah. It's not that far back to William's house. Why?" he asked, hoping to steer the conversation back towards her.

"Well, I usually -- I mean," she stuttered out, hands twirling her fork around and around. "Most days, my mom comes and gets me, but she. . . has something she has to do today, so. . . " She trailed off, and Clark breathed a mental sigh of relief.

"Do you. . . want me to walk with you?" he asked, trying to phrase it in some way that didn't sound condescending or sexist. At Adrianne's embarrassed expression, he added, "It would be my pleasure, m'lady," in a faux British accent. Then he winked at her and went back to eating.

Adrianne laughed a little nervously and picked up her own fork again, as well. 

"Where do you live?" Clark asked after a moment, hoping her unease had dissipated. 

"Over in Brockridge," she replied, meeting his eyes. "I know it's pretty far from here, but I-- we don't. . . " She took a deep breath and said quickly, "I can't afford to take a taxi, and it seems so stupid, but I'm still pretty new here and I get lost-- "

"Hey, hey," Clark interrupted, setting a hand on her arm. Adrianne stopped and ducked her head down again. "It's no problem, really," he insisted. Then, lifting his hand just as the bell sounded, Clark said, "I'll wait for you by your locker, okay? And we can stop and get some egg creams." She looked up and he went on, sliding off the bench and standing up. "There's this place near, um, Dartmouth and Rosier that makes 'em."

"What's in it?" Adrianne asked, her nose wrinkling. She got up and walked beside him till they reached the tray drop-off, then she fell in behind. 

"Oh, you'll love it!" Clark enthused. "There's not really any egg in them. I don't why they're called that, but it's got chocolate and-- "

***

He counted down the seconds until the bell would ring, watching the little red hand on the clock slowly. . . tick. . . tick. . . tick ever closer to-- 

With a collective groan of relief, everyone jolted into action after the bell sounded. Clark got to his feet and started making his way towards the front of the class. "Sorry," he said, when he accidentally bumped into someone. 

But it was the strangest thing, because when he turned his head back to the front, Clark realized he'd seen that kid before. He did a double-take, whipping his head back around just in time to catch a glimpse of the stark fear on that boy's face. 

It was one of the boys who'd messed up Lyons last month, he realized -- not the boy Clark had threatened personally, but one of the others. Clark stopped walking for a moment, stalling in the line towards the door, causing a few people to grunt and complain and push around him. He waited a beat for the boy's eyes to drift up again, and then Clark. . .

Smiled at him, big and cheerful, with a lot of teeth showing. He locked eyes with that jerk and even gave in to a happy chuckle. The boy blanched and seemed to shrink in on himself, and Clark's chuckle turned into a genuine laugh. 

He turned around then and went out into the hallway. Adrianne would probably already be at her locker by the time Clark managed to put his books away and pack his bookbag. He had homework to do tonight -- Physics, Calculus, a little in Government. English. He had an essay due at the end of the week, and Clark was taking his English home to start on it early.

Mr. Jenks would be so proud. Not.

He was tempted to sneak up on Adrianne, put his hands over her eyes and make her 'Guess who?' but he didn't. When he thought about it, Clark realized that would be a really jerky thing to do, considering Adrianne was still pretty nervous about the whole 'Big City, Big School' thing. It'd be pretty insensitive of him to freak her out like that, and he knew she would be freaked out. Adrianne seemed to have that vibe about her. She took things more seriously sometimes than even he did, and these days that was pretty hard to do.

So he just walked down the hall and managed to catch her eye before sidling up next to her.

"All ready to go?" he asked rhetorically, as she already had her locker shut and her backpack on. Adrianne nodded anyway, and Clark smiled. "Then let's hit the road! Come, the city awaits!"

She shook her head, smiling at him fondly. "You're such a goofball," she said, shaking her head in mock reproof.

Clark laughed. "That's what everybody says," he agreed.

They followed the crowd of students outside, and then turned right at the crosswalk, heading North. Though up ahead of them, sitting on a bench and joking and horsing around with his buddies, was Lyons. He met Clark's eyes and smiled a too-innocent smile. 

Adrianne cast a quick confused look at Clark, but he just kept walking, keeping his head down as they came too near the loud boys for his comfort.

"Clark?" she said in a questioning tone, once they'd gotten to the next block. "Do you know that kid?"

He glanced over, briefly meeting her eyes. "He's. . . in my English class," he responded, hoping that would alleviate some of the anxiety on Adrianne's face. "Why?"

She turned her head away, though, making a big deal of checking for cars before they jaywalked across the street.

"What's up?" Clark pressed. Adrianne was suddenly very quiet and that wasn't like her at all. She usually seemed to try and cover both ends of the conversation -- hers and Clark's -- but now it was like she regretted saying anything, or was hesitating to go any further. And what about Lyons would make her act like that? "Something about Lyons I should know?"

Adrianne whipped her head around to look at him, startled and surprised. "What? Why-- no, no!" she insisted, pasting on a fake smile. "No, I was just. . . um, curious because he smiled at you, that's all." She gave a nervous little titter, then went back to looking at her feet as they walked.

"Adrianne," Clark said, stopping her with a hand on her arm. It worked, just like it had back in the cafeteria earlier. She stopped walking, staring down at Clark's hand almost guiltily. "What's going on? You know something I don't? About. . . Lyons?"

Adrianne sighed heavily, then jerked her head to the left, indicating she wanted to keep moving. Worked for him. As long as she said whatever it was that was bothering her, Clark had no problem listening to it while they walked to her house. Probably better that way, since her place on Brockridge would be a long walk. 

"It's. . . nothing really," Adrianne said, and Clark gave her a look. "Okay, okay! It's just-- a lot of it's gossip and. . . I personally have never even talked to the guy, so I don't know for sure if any of it is-- "

He rolled his eyes. "What do they say about him?" he interrupted, knowing she'd go off on a rant about gossip and hearsay if he didn't keep her on topic.

"Gloria, my lab partner," she started, waving a hand around as she talked. "She said Jared's been. . . 'talking' to some bad people lately." Adrianne used air quotations on 'talking,' and Clark knew immediately she was talking about drugs. "They used to live next door to them, Gloria's family did, and-- and then she started talking about the case a little," she added in a near-whisper.

Clark had kept pace with Adrianne till then, but at that point he became confused again. Adrianne, however, seemed to be on a roll, and was talking faster and more quietly, her every word tinged with excitement and secrecy.

"Gloria said that her older sister saw one of them kissing some older dude after school sometime last year. Evidently, he went right up to this car and leaned in the window and started just-- just really sucking face with this old guy!" Adrianne laughed a little, the sheer sordidness of it bringing a flush to her cheeks. Then she looked at Clark, her smile slowly fading. "Clark?"

"What do you mean 'them?'" he asked, confused. 

Adrianne just stared at him, then said, "The Lyons," like that clarified everything.

"What?"

It was kinda funny, really, because the look on her face when she realized why Clark was confused was pretty hysterical. Her mouth dropped open and she just looked completely. . . dumbfounded, like she'd never expected anything like this.

"Oh, Clark!" she exclaimed after a moment. Then quieter, she asked rhetorically, "You don't know? They were twins. The Lyons -- Jared and Jacob. Though Gloria thinks now it was probably Jacob her sister saw." She looked at Clark, and he must have still looked confused because she went on, gesturing with her hands. "You know, kissing some old dude in the parking lot? Coz Jared's evidently got the rep of being somewhat. . . homophobic." Adrianne added the last part quietly, with an apologetic glance at Clark.

"You said 'were.'" Now it was her turn to frown in bewilderment. "You said 'they were twins.' What-- did. . . something happen to. . . Jacob?" He was having a hard time speaking at the moment, the thought of two Lyons still making him oddly uneasy.

"Yeah, you could say that," Adrianne said. "It was all over the papers, you know." Clark shrugged, and she sighed before starting again. "Last year sometime -- um, summer, I think -- the Metro police found Jacob's body in a dumpster."

Clark gasped. "In a dumpster?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Adrianne confirmed, nodding sadly. "He was-- his body was naked and there were all sorts of bruises and cuts. The paper made it sound like he'd been, you know." She made a sad, disgusted face and Clark nodded hard, cutting her off before she could summon up the courage to spell it out.

"God, I had no clue," he said, still shocked. 

"It got reprinted all the way to Blue Valley," Adrianne said. "That's where we moved from," she explained, when Clark met her eyes questioningly. "They called it the 'Cane murder' 'cause a witness supposedly saw some guy with a cane walking out of that alley earlier that night."

"Did they ever find out who did it?" Clark asked. He looked up at the street signs, suddenly recognizing the store fronts around him and looking for 'Will's Place.' They were at the corner of Dartmouth and Raymond, and Clark knew the shop was somewhere between Raymond and Rosier streets.

"No," she answered. The noise level had climbed higher, the closer to the busier streets they'd walked, and Adrianne was practically shouting at him over the din. Clark wished he could tell her that wasn't necessary. He could hear her heartbeat clear across the school sometimes, had once even caught her swearing under her breath at one of the popular girls during her gym class.

They were silent for a time, Clark resisting the urge he felt to somehow gather Adrianne up close and keep track of her like a hawk. She said she often got lost, that her mom usually picked her up, and it occurred to him to wonder why she hadn't arranged to take the bus somehow. 

As they crossed the intersection, Clark glanced down at Adrianne beside him. "You still up for that egg cream?" he asked, pushing his worry aside for now. Clark pointed to the right, where about a hundred yards away a bright blue sign declared the existence of 'Will's Place.'

Adrianne met his eyes and smiled. She clung to the straps of her bookbag and bit her lip. "Um, sure," she said, wrinkling her nose again. "You sure it's. . . good?"

"Oh, yeah!" Clark enthused. "Best stuff ever! I'd drink one every day, if I could." He pulled a face, tilting his head for a second as he pretended to think. "In fact, I think I will have one every day," he declared, and Adrianne laughed. "Put William's money to good use!"

"I'm sure the owners will appreciate that," she said, playing along. "You'll be their favorite customer, always spreading the word about their delicious egg creams." She nudged him playfully in the side with her elbow, and Clark reached out to pull the door open. He went to move back so she could go in first, but Adrianne just walked right under his arm and went inside. She didn't even have to scrunch down or bend over, and Clark realized again just how much she reminded him of Chloe and Pete. Adrianne was like the two of them combined, though without the dedication to reporting or the habit of calling him 'Clark Bar.'

***

"Do you know about the 'Cane murder?'"

Lex frowned, picking up his wine glass and taking a swallow before meeting Clark's eyes.

"Where'd you hear of that?" he asked. Clark sighed at the standard evasion.

"Do you know about it?" he repeated.

"Yes," Lex finally answered. He leaned back in his chair, bringing one of his legs up and resting it across his knee. "It was a very scandalous case." He stared into Clark's eyes and added, "And very gruesome." Lex raised an eyebrow. "And where did you hear of that?" he repeated.

Clark had to smile at Lex's fair play. He stabbed another piece of asparagus and began nibbling on the tip, while looking at Lex.

"Adrianne told me about it today," Clark said, watching in satisfaction as Lex's eyes dropped to his mouth and he visibly swallowed.

Then Lex's brow wrinkled, and he brought his glass back up to his lips.

"Interesting topic of conversation, there," he said before taking another sip of his wine.

"Well. . . " and Clark hesitated, lowering his fork back down to rest on his plate. He dropped his eyes down, too, and tried to decide. . . just how much he should tell Lex about. . .

"What's up?" Lex finally asked, and Clark jerked his eyes up. Lex looked concerned, an expression Clark was fast growing tired of. Lex these days seemed to have three expressions, at least when he was around Clark, that was. He either looked confused, worried, or turned on. Needless to say, only the last one was what Clark wanted to see on that face.

He took a deep breath and locked his eyes back onto his plate, knowing this would be difficult enough without having to actually see Lex pick apart his every word.

"See, there's this kid in my English class," Clark began. "And, since like the first day, he's been-- well, he's been an asshole, is what it is. He must have something against 'rich people,' and Adrianne thinks he's kinda. . . homophobic." He could hear Lex shift in his seat, but he kept looking down. "I don't think he. . . knows anything. About me, I mean. But he's just. . . always saying things and giving me these nasty looks and today, when I was walking Adrianne home, he-- "

***

"Are you going home tonight?" Lex asked him quietly, his hand running through Clark's hair over and over.

Clark shook his head, bringing his leg up and wrapping it around Lex's. He set a kiss onto Lex's chest and wrapped his arms a little tighter around him. And he didn't even care that what he was about to say would make him. . . vulnerable, in a way. This was Lex. The rules didn't apply to Lex. 

"No," Clark whispered. "I'm already home," and he knew Lex heard him when the hand in his hair stopped moving.


	11. Ten

It’d been almost three days straight since he’d seen either William or Mary. Clark hadn’t eaten dinner with Mary in almost two weeks, and in truth had had more contact with Evelyn, the maid, the last month than he’d had with her employers.

So when the fight finally came, he was actually kind of surprised he was there to see it. Of course, that was assuming this was the first one the two of them had had about this particular topic, and not the billionth, like when they fought about the sofa in the tea room.

He walked into the house quietly, softly pushing the inner glass doors shut behind himself. As Clark started across the foyer, though, he heard raised voices coming from down the hall.

William’s office, and the door was ajar. Debating whether or not to just turn around and leave, the decision was taken away from him when the door was whipped open and he was face to face with a glowering William Clark.

“Clark,” William said curtly, brushing past him and up the stairs. 

When he glanced inside the office on his way past, Clark saw Mary with her head in her hands, facing the fireplace. He quickly climbed the stairs, too, heading to the left and his room, while up ahead he saw William break off to the right. Their room.

He’d come back for a few things -- a couple changes of clothes, his laptop, a book for school -- and was nearly done stuffing it in his bag when he heard their raised voices out in the hall again. 

“ . . .just go ahead then!” he heard Mary shout, and Clark was actually shocked into stillness. He’d never heard her raise her voice, not once, and she sounded so. . . miserable.

“This is the way things have always been,” William said over Mary’s sobs. “I have to go; it‘s business. You’re being irrational in demanding that I stay when I-- ”

“It’s our anniversary, Bill! How can you just. . . leave?!”

Clark came back to himself, unclenching his hands from around a t-shirt and gently tucking it inside the bag with its fellows. He felt guilty and uncertain, and took one last longing look at the window’s escape before slinging his bag up on his shoulder and walking out into the hall. 

Mary and William were out there, and simultaneously took steps away from each other as Clark came closer.

Clark gave them a quick nod, then hurried over to the stairs, wanting to put as much space between them and himself as possible.

“Clark,” came William’s stern voice, and with a wince he resignedly turned around.

“Yes?” he asked, trying his best not to sound annoyed.

“You and your. . . grandmother. . . have reservations at eight tomorrow, at The Julie. See to it you’re not late.”

And with that, William turned his back on them and walked back into the bedroom to, presumably, pack. Which left Clark in close proximity to a severely distraught Mary. Her mouth hung open, and tears stained her face. Her hands were locked together tight, gone white from lack of circulation.

He’d never noticed before, but, with the tears having washed out her eyes a bit, Clark saw Mary’s eyes were. . . a beautiful light blue. Her mouth was the same as-- and the shape of her eyebrows exactly like-- 

“Mary,” Clark found himself saying, as he set a hand on top of hers. “Mary, come away.” 

***

Lex barely said anything when Clark went down on him, just smiled that smile of his and pet his hair. Afterward, he brought his arms up and put them behind his head, settling back against the pillow with a big sigh of contentment.

“You comfortable?” Clark teased, and Lex grinned at him.

“Nothing like an evening spent in bed with a beautiful boy,” Lex retorted, but Clark withdrew a little, frowning. “What?” Lex asked, keen eyes catching Clark’s slip in expression.

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head before resting it on Lex’s thigh.

But Lex wasn’t fooled -- when was he ever, really -- as he set a hand atop Clark’s hair again. 

“Don’t lie, Clark,” he said in a quiet voice.

Clark shut his eyes in shame, then opened them to meet Lex’s sad gaze. He tried to apologize with his eyes, and Lex eventually smiled again, so he thought he’d done a passable job of it. Clark crawled up the bed, finally stopping when his chin could rest in the faint depression between Lex’s pectorals. 

“Sorry,” he said, but Lex just gave a minute shrug and smiled a fake smile this time. “I just-- ” and he hesitated for a few seconds before taking the plunge. Dropping his eyes down to Lex’s neck and shoulder, Clark told him, “I don’t like being called a boy. I’m not. I’m--” He was going to say it. He was going to say it. He was going to-- “I’m older than that. More mature.”

Coward.

“Yes, you are,” Lex readily agreed, his hand still stroking Clark’s hair. “I do apologize if I offended you, Clark, but the truth is. . . by most standards, you are still considered a boy.” The hand stilled. “Perhaps that’s why I always feel so nervous about. . . us.”

Clark’s eyes jerked up to Lex’s face, just as his apparently skittered away to the side. And that was as close as Lex had ever come to saying. . . 

In a rush, Clark lunged forward and planted his lips square on Lex’s. He waited a moment until Lex started kissing him back, then let his hand slide to the back of the man’s head. Lex wrapped his arms around Clark’s back before pulling his mouth away.

He stared at Clark intently before quirking his lips into a small smile. Clark didn’t think he’d ever seen Lex smile so much, and the thought made him smile too.

“I don’t think it’s wrong,” Lex told him, still smiling, only a little more self-deprecatingly. “It wouldn’t feel right if it were. I’ve always known when something is wrong,” he said, and Clark watched the bitterness and self-loathing rise up in Lex’s eyes. “It isn’t wrong,” he repeated.

Clark took a deep breath, moving his forehead closer till it rested against Lex’s. “It’s not wrong,” he agreed, loving Lex even more, if that was possible, when the man closed his eyes at the words. Someone else agreeing with him, someone telling him he wasn’t a bad person. . . Lex deserved so much more than just Clark’s love.

***

Clark made sure he was dressed and ready to go by seven. Mary tried to smile at him, he could tell, but her eyes just turned watery and sad again when she thought he wasn’t looking. She came down in a deep blue dress, and Clark thought she looked beautiful. William was a fool, brushing her off and pushing her away, but then, hadn’t he done that to. . . Mom, too? 

William had hated Dad, and he’d let that hate fester in him until he couldn’t stand the sight of anything that even faintly reminded him of Jonathan Kent. Like his daughter. Like Clark.

Like his own wife, who now had to go to her anniversary dinner with a strange boy she hardly knew. Clark held out his arm, and Mary raised her eyebrows in surprise as she took it. He held the door open for her when they got to the car, giving the driver a little nod on his way around to the other side.

The Julie was. . . very upscale, the kind of place the Luthors, Queens, and Waynes of the world fit in seamlessly. Mary of course blended right in with her silk dress and expensive pearls. Clark, however, felt like a kid playing dress-up. Oh, he was wearing a nice suit, and he’d gelled his hair back so he didn’t look like a dweeb, but. . . everyone just kept looking at him. He didn’t blend in.

But this was for Mary, he told himself, ignoring the looks as he escorted her to the reserved table over to the side. Clark even gestured the waiter back, instead pulling Mary’s chair out himself. He got a smile for that, a real one.

Mary ordered for him, winking at him when the waiter frowned in confusion at the reversal in gender roles. Clark smiled, making sure to keep his mouth closed and to not show any teeth.

The food was good enough, but so artistically presented Clark felt like he were destroying the Mona Lisa with every bite. Everything felt like it was on display here, the food, the staff, the design, the people. He got the feeling one only came here to be seen, and maybe that was what bothered him most about the place. Clark was trying hard to blend in, to be ordinary and unnoticed, but this kind of scene just made him all the more visible. He stood out like the stupid farm boy he was, and that’s probably what all those looks from everybody were signaling. They didn't want him here? Fine. Clark didn’t really want to be here, either.

He didn't want to be one of them, anyway.

At one point, he got up and went in search of a bathroom. Turned out it was probably bigger than the whole first floor of their old house. There was no guy waiting to hand out towels or anything, for which Clark was thankful. He didn’t think he could handle some guy hearing him piss and then waiting just to hand him a freakin’ hand towel or mint, or whatever. There were two other men washing their hands at the sink when Clark came up to do the same, and he thought he recognized one of them. The blonde man looked to be about Lex’s age, and he met Clark’s eyes in the mirror briefly before drying his hands and walking out with a swagger. The other guy made a disgusted noise in his throat at that, but, when Clark turned to look at him, he’d already dropped his eyes and was finishing up too.

There was no bill. Mary just signed something after they’d finished eating, and then made to get up. Clark stood and quickly rushed over to help her, pulling her chair out and holding his arm for her. As they headed out, having to stop to wait for Mary’s wrap, Clark let his eyes wander around the room a bit. And in the corner, facing him and sitting across from a brunette woman, was the same guy from the bathroom. The blonde one. He met Clark’s eyes again, this time raising a brow before raising his glass in a toast with his date. Clark felt himself blush and jerked his eyes away, but not before he caught the smirk on the other guy’s face.

Stupid freakin' rich kids, he thought. Then promptly grinned at the notion that he was technically a rich kid now, too. So there, he thought, raising his chin and pulling his shoulders back. Mary murmured a thanks next to him, and Clark turned to see her winding the silk wrap around her shoulders. 

Outside, it was starting to get chilly. As the car pulled away from the curb, Clark looked back at the facade of the restaurant. Because that’s what it was: a brightly colored, beautiful, fake, facade. Rich people were no better than anyone else in the world. They only thought they were.

***

Clark finished the night off with a kiss to Mary’s hand. She didn’t smile, though, just seemed to study him closely. Finally, he pulled back and went to his room down the hall to change clothes. 

He snuck out the door while Mary was still changing, then started the walk over to Lex’s penthouse. It was a Saturday night of calm weather and no school tomorrow and the possibility of yards and yards of nude Lex in his very near future. 

It was a night of not fitting in no matter how hard he tried and fumbling his salad fork loudly and wanting to punch who he thought was probably Oliver Queen right in the face.

So, yeah, could have been better, but then, as Clark waved at the guards on duty in the lobby and punched the button to the 66th floor, his night was just about to take a turn for the better. He leaned against the side of the elevator, then walked calmly down the hall to the door. Clark knocked, and only had to wait a few seconds before he was face to face with Lex.

“Hey, stranger,” Clark greeted him with, grinning widely and showing all his crooked, pointy teeth.

Lex gave him a good-natured confused look, but pulled him inside by the arm, nonetheless. Clark saw a remote controller on the floor, as if dropped all of a sudden, and the screen on the TV was at a standstill. He looked at Lex with a raised eyebrow, and got the same exact expression in reply.

“So. . .” Clark teased in a sing-song voice. “Whatcha’ doin’?”

“Just watching some television,” Lex quickly replied. He let go of Clark’s arm and drifted back over to the TV. Then, Lex spent the next ten seconds looking between it and the remote, and Clark had no doubt whatsoever what Lex was trying to decide.

“Is that a new Playstation?” he asked, deciding the matter. Lex jerked his head over, startled.

“Uh, yeah. Just got it this afternoon. A Playstation 2.”

“Whoa!” Clark exclaimed, striding over to Lex’s side and gazing down at the game console resting on the coffee table. “I didn’t think that came out till-- ”

“ --August, yeah,” Lex agreed. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said with a smile in his voice, “One of the perks of being a consultant is I get a lot of the merchandise prior to the official release date.”

“You’re a consultant for Playstation?!” Clark said in awe. He said it. He didn’t screech. Because Clark Kent did not screech.

Lex grinned up at him. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Jesus, Lex, this is awesome!” Clark’s eyes darted back to the paused screen. “What were you playing? Can I see?”

“Yeah, sit,” he told him. Lex bent over to pick up the controller, and Clark realized this penthouse really was Heaven. Lex and videogames and sex. It didn’t get any better than that.

“See, this is different from the PS1, in that it--” Lex was talking and demonstrating some new features, and Clark really tried to listen, he did, but. . . Lex was barefoot. He had a t-shirt on, something which Clark had never seen him wear before ever, and it looked too big on him. It was also red, and Lex didn’t own anything red.

If there was a bleach stain on the backside of the hem of that shirt, then that meant Lex was wearing Clark’s t-shirt. And if that were the case, then the PS2 was just gonna have to wait until morning. Or next week.

“ --Clark? Hey, you in there, buddy?” 

He caught Lex’s waving hand with his own, and held it tightly as he craned his neck to look at his back. Sure enough, there was the discoloration, the pink spot that’d marked that shirt for as long as Clark had had it. He had no clue how it’d gotten there, couldn’t remember ever using bleach while doing the laundry, but it was there.

He pulled his head back, and looked Lex in the eyes. Lex was confused. His forehead was all wrinkly and his eyebrows were pulled together.

Clark thought he was the most gorgeous man on the planet.

“Clark, you. . . okay?” Lex asked tentatively. 

But Clark just knocked the game controller out of his hands and pushed him down on the sofa.

“Mmmph!” was the noise Lex made, the breath rushing out of him and straight into Clark’s mouth. “What the-- ?” he tried to say, but it came out, “Uh-eh?”

Clark broke the kiss, dropping his head down on Lex’s shoulders and giving in to his laughter. Lex’s breathing was ragged, almost panting, really, in Clark’s ear, but his hands were steady as they molded themselves around Clark’s shoulders. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Lex started, and Clark smiled into his neck. “But what was that for? I want to know, in case I need it in the future.”

Clark lifted his head. “You’re wearing my shirt,” he answered, then grinned when Lex cast a look down at himself.

“So I am. And that’s all?” he asked.

Clark knew that look. He knew what that tone signaled, too.

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” Clark told him seriously. “Because I can.”

And then he proved his point again. For hours.


	12. Eleven

Upon his return from negotiating some merger overseas, Lex decided that since Clark had never had Japanese cuisine before, that necessarily meant he'd also never had Chinese. Or something like that.

"I've been to Smallville, Clark," he'd reminded him, that haughty sneer just starting to peek through. "I know what constitutes Chinese food there, and it's about as Chinese as apple pie."

So, they had reservations at some swanky, hip restaurant downtown in one of the recently completed Luthorcorp developments. Clark was a little nervous, but Lex seemed pretty relaxed so he just kind of went with it.

It'd all work out. Hopefully.

Seven o'clock rolled around and he knocked on Lex's door just as the second hand clicked over. He listened carefully and heard Lex's controlled footsteps coming nearer. With a swoosh of air, the door was pulled in and there was Lex in front of him.

He smiled and made a show of checking his watch.

"My God, Clark," he enthused. "You're exactly on time!" He stepped back to let Clark inside, putting on a mock-surprised expression and looking a heartbeat away from clapping his hands in delight.

Clark rolled his eyes, but couldn't help grinning. He glanced around the room, just beginning to darken as the sun set, taking in the new chair by the windows and another abstract painting on the south wall.

"Have a good trip?" Clark asked, turning and staying close to Lex. He'd been gone for more than a week, and Clark was still a little nervous at times about initiating contact. He drifted a little ways, not wanting to seem too clingy and finally coming to a decision to just lean back on the bar counter nearby. Lex had his hands in his pockets again, but he came closer with that smile still gracing his lips.

"It was incredibly boring, but successful." He put a hand high on Clark's arm. "You ready to go?" he asked, looking loath to move a muscle.

Clark knew the feeling.

"Yeah, wouldn't want to be late for that reservation," he said.

Lex just smirked, tugging the sleeve of Clark's shirt in order to pull him forward.

"I think they'd let us reschedule, Clark," he said softly, his lips not even a breath away from Clark's.

"You're probably right," he agreed, meeting Lex halfway and falling into him like he was the sun.

They ended up keeping the reservation, but it was a close call.

***

It was when they were coming out of the restaurant that it happened the first time. Clark had been keeping the door open until Lex could get a hold of it, when bright lights started going off repeatedly out by the curb. He'd moved over to the side of the building to wait for Lex, and when he'd looked towards the commotion, he'd been able to see past the bright lights to the people wielding them. He'd been able to make out the reporters' faces, and it wasn't until he and Lex were safe inside the Maserati and breaking all the speed limits in the area that Clark thought he probably should've been covering his eyes back there.

Lex dropped him off in front of William and Mary's house that night, and he was too insulted and hurt by that to even argue about it with him.

Later that week, Chloe included in her email a link to a certain article on some gossip website. After that, he began wondering just what everyone who'd read that article and had seen those pictures thought they knew about them. Did they think Lex and Clark were dating? Or did they assume that Clark was just another rich playboy type, and that he and Lex had simply been boozing it up and eating expensive Chinese before hitting some equally expensive gentleman's club? Did people even care, or were Lex's exploits just routine tabloid fodder these days?

Were those photos of the two of them in the Planet and on various websites the reason Lex had recently grown silent and "busy?" And if so, just what the hell was Clark supposed to do to get him back?

***

Adrianne wasn't in school on Monday. Clark waited in vain for her at the front entrance in the morning, then hung around her locker during lunch on the off-chance she'd come in late. She hadn't.

It was strange to be alone again all day. He'd become so used to talking to her and sitting with her and walking her home that without her. . . school kinda sucked. Again.

In English, Jenks gave them a pop quiz. Clark took his time, writing slowly and being careful not to break the lead on his pencil too many times. He still finished early, but not by much.

When he looked to his left, he saw Lyons busily scribbling away at one of the essays. It was the first time Clark had ever seen him write, and something squirmed in his belly when he realized Lyons was left-handed.

Jenks actually looked mildly happy when he picked up Clark's quiz. It probably shouldn't have made him feel as happy with himself as it did, but it was nice to be proud of himself again. It was nice to like school a little bit, even if he couldn't really share it with anyone anymore.

***

"So nothing new?" he asked, keeping his mouth close to the receiver. Cell phones were very small and very delicate, and so far he didn't really like them all that much. They were overrated, in his opinion, but Lex hadn't taken 'no' for an answer and the thing was pretty useful. If tricky.

"Not on this end," Chloe said with a little huff of amusement. She was probably at the Torch, typing and revising the night away. Chloe practically lived in that office and Clark found himself once again wondering just what her father thought about her staying out so late every night. Gabe was a decent guy, busy, but decent. Maybe he just acknowledged the fact that arguing with her or trying to keep her away from the paper would be pretty much impossible. Chloe was a good friend and she was a good human being, but the girl was past stubborn and persistent.

"Well, I don't have anything either," Clark said mock defensively.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Huh?" he responded and, listening, thought he could actually hear the exact moment Chloe rolled her eyes.

"Ooh, witty rejoinder there, Boy Wonder," she snarked. She took an audible breath, then clarified. "I meant, with all the photos floating around of you and Lex, you must have some interesting stories-- "

"Nope," Clark said, cutting her off. "I know where this is going, and, no, I'm not giving you a quote on Metropolis nightlife or anything like that. Looks like it's gonna be another article on the gym mats for ya, Chloe."

She laughed just like he'd hoped she would. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, and he knew what she was going to say before she even started. "That's your favorite beat, Clark Bar! I couldn't possibly take that away from you. Mine would be a pale imitation when compared to the work of art you wrote."

"Yeah, and don't you forget it!" he quipped, stifling his laughter with his fist. "Nice to know I'll be missed around the watercooler, me and the. . . " he wheezed, "and the lovely gym mats."

He could hear the grin in Chloe's voice. "Yes, they're remarkable mats, the very epitome of mat-ness. You must be so proud!"

They both laughed, and then Clark said, "This 's gotta be the dumbest conversation we've ever had."

And Chloe snorted indelicately, replying, "I don't think so! That honor would have to go to the Great Debate of 2000 because any way you look at it, wonderful gym mats don't even come close to that time we all argued about Mountain Dew. You know, when Pete said it tasted disgusting-- "

"And you agreed with him!" Clark interjected loudly. He stood up and started aimlessly wandering around the room as he told the story the way it really happened, not the way Chloe would tell it. "You said it had enough caffeine to power a small, third-world country for a month, and when I said I liked it, you-- "

"I didn't say that!" she denied.

"Yes, you did. Pete said it tasted like cologne, remember?"

He could hear Chloe snap her fingers in triumph over the phone. "Cos we were at that thing in the park," she declared. "What was it? Um, some kind of craft fair, or whatever-- "

"Oh, it was that 'Smallville Days' thing-a-majig," he stated, and Chloe made an affirmative little grunt. "Yeah," Clark went on, "we got out of school for that cos the Granville College made some Science majors give presentations or something."

"But we were late because. . . why were we late?" she asked. "That's why there was only the Mountain Dew left, but I can't remember why. . . hmmm."

Clark smiled, thinking of how her face was probably all wrinkled and scrunched up right then, and her eyes were closed as she searched her memory. 

"Oh!" she suddenly exclaimed, "I think it was your. . . " but then she stopped abruptly.

He focused back on the conversation and realized why she'd suddenly grown quiet.

He swallowed and said, "Yeah, my mom made all those pies and stuff, and we offered to help her set 'em up."

There was a beat of silence, then Chloe jumped in there again. "You mean Pete offered to help," she corrected, softly. "He only did that because he thought she'd give us pie," and he laughed at the censure in her voice.

"Yeah, and Mom probably knew it, too," he said, hoping Chloe would laugh.

She did. "Yeah, but we didn't get any pie, and then we had to listen to Pete whine the rest of the afternoon about not getting pie and how all they had to drink was water and-- "

" --and Mountain Dew!" he finished with her. "Man, I haven't had any of that stuff for, like, months!"

"What, they just have fancy, European bottled water up there?" she asked. "You do live in a city, Clark. I guarantee you that if you walk a block in any direction, there'll be some kind of convenience store within sight."

"No, I mean, it's just that at school I drink juice or milk, and here it's water, and when Lex and I. . . " He trailed off uncertainly, not sure how much Chloe had guessed or would guess.

"When you and Lex hit the town it's probably, like, the most expensive, imported energy drink in the world served in the most elaborate glass with ice from, like. . . the Swiss Alps and a straw made of gold. Am I right?"

Clark smiled. "Well, last night the straws were platinum, but you're not too far off."

Chloe chuckled and the tension vanished.

Later that night, lying awake on his bed after Mary and William were asleep and the house was silent, Clark thought back to that conversation. It was the first time he'd really talked about either of his parents since they'd. . . died. He was surprised it hadn't hurt more.

***

The next week, Clark finally got sick and tired of being avoided and decided the ball was in his court. If Lex were actually honest-to-God busy, then Clark barging in wouldn't result in anything more than a quick excuse and maybe, if he were lucky, a goodbye kiss. If he weren't busy, however. . . well, that's what they needed to figure out.

He went in one day after school, having already walked Adrianne home and rushed back downtown. It was around four-thirty, and the afternoon sun made the floors of the building look like they were on fire. He bypassed the secretaries downstairs with a polite wave, then took the elevator up and got off on Lex's floor. Lanie, Lex's personal assistant/secretary wasn't at her desk, so Clark took that as a good omen and went ahead. He pushed the double doors wide and walked right on through.

And the first thing he saw was indeed Lex, but he wasn't alone. Lanie was standing to the right, legal pad and pen in her hand as she looked towards him from the other side of the room. Her hand was still hovering close to the paper, so Clark guessed she'd been in the middle of writing something when he'd. . . barged in.

He recognized his mistake in that moment, and his stupidity in just assuming that whatever happened it'd turn out all right no matter what. For when he looked over to the left of the room, someone else whirled around and looked back.

Clark didn't say anything, and he could've easily left right then and there. But he didn't.

"Well, who's this?" Lionel Luthor asked, not seeming to expect a response from anyone in particular, but the room as a whole. He started strutting over and when he was less than two feet away, Lex pushed away from his desk so fast he ended up clipping his hip on the corner. "Clark. . . Kent, isn't it?" Lionel said, knowing perfectly well who he was and not bothering to hide it. "My, but it's good to see you again, my boy!"

He extended his hand with a grin, waiting for Clark to take it and shake, and Clark would have given anything to be able to erase away the past five minutes.

He shook his hand and almost managed to do so with a smile. It would've been a smile, if Lex hadn't distracted him by looking so concerned.

"I hear you're living here in Metropolis, Clark. How's our fair city treating you? A lot more hospitable than, uh, than Smallville, eh?" And Lionel grinned like he'd just said the cleverest thing imaginable.

Clark smiled back at him. "It's a lovely city, Mr. Luthor," he agreed, wishing he could punch the old bastard in the face.

"Great, great!"

Lex came to stand awkwardly between them, as though he were unsure what to do, which was preposterous of course. Lex always knew what to do.

Clark felt his smile slipping, so he gave it another shot then turned to go. He figured that was enough humiliation for one day, and was just stepping back when Lionel reached out and grasped his wrist.

"Clark, son," he said, and in his tone Clark heard what he was going to say. "I wish to give you my condolences on the loss of your dear parents-- "

"Dad-- " Lex started, looking anxiously between Lionel and Clark. "Dad, perhaps now is not-- "

"They were fine people, your mother especially." He smiled again. "So full of life. It's a tragedy they passed so soon, but I think they'd be proud of you, son, moving on and living your life like you are." He let go of Clark's wrist, then, patting him high up on the arm heartily.

"Thank you, Mr. Luthor," Clark heard himself say. He felt his mouth turn up and knew he was smiling again. "That's very kind of you to say."

He didn't feel anything in that moment except disgust.

"I apologize for interrupting, sir," he said, backing away and steadfastly ignoring Lex. "Excuse me."

He left the building in a daze, not really thinking or noticing where he was going until he suddenly looked up and realized he was standing in the middle of the southwest field.

In Smallville. On what used to be his parents' farm.

It was sunny out still, the days getting longer now that summer was just around the corner. Clark liked summer, enjoyed being outside in the sunshine and fresh air. He liked working, enjoyed taking care of the animals and even repairing things that got damaged or worn down.

He'd liked working on the farm, and hadn't known how much he'd missed it until just that instant.

He took a deep breath and then started walking back towards the road. Once there, he thought about heading back to the city, but. . .

He wondered what Pete and Chloe were doing, wondered if Mr. Ross would be upset if he crashed their place for dinner.


	13. Twelve

It was two minutes shy of five o'clock when Clark sped into the alley behind The Beanery. He smoothed his shirt down, and pulled his fingers through some of the snarls in his hair, trying to make himself look somewhat less windblown. Then he took a deep breath and started walking around to the front. The Beanery was on Main Street and, like any normal weekday, most of the parking spots surrounding it were filled. Give it another 15 or 20 minutes, though, and most people would be heading home for dinner.

Smallville had its own routine just like everything else.

He came to the glass door and pulled it open, stepping inside the nice air conditioned building. It was loud and busy, customers spanning the whole age gamut from middle school kids on up to a small table of white-haired old ladies sipping tea and gossiping. Clark stood and just took it all in for a moment, the noise and familiarity. It felt a little distant too, but not in a bad way really. He was visiting. This wasn't his life anymore, but it was still a nice one.

He spotted Pete and Chloe sitting at one of the two-top tables along the far wall and carefully, sneakily wended his way towards them. A few people looked up at him as he passed, doing double-takes and then opening their mouths to call out a greeting. Feeling mischievous, he put a finger to his lips and crouched down, and everyone seemed to take the hint. The occupied sofa blocked most of Pete's view of him, and Clark was thankful it wasn't Chloe in that seat instead. She would've noticed him right away, but Pete just noticed Chloe.

He crept and crept and then waited until Chloe was mid-rant before jumping up and yelling, "Hi!"

Chloe shrieked hilariously and Pete jerked back so far his chair nearly upended. A tide of laughter swept the room, and Clark just grinned when Chloe slapped his arm -- hard.

"You jerk!" she exclaimed. "Nearly gave me an apoplexy."

"Ooh, big word," Clark commented. "What'd that one cost ya?"

Pete straightened his chair and said, "About two weeks of being lectured on Moby Dick. Man, I hate that book!"

Clark chuckled. "Yeah, I get to skip that one, I think."

"Cos you're all intelligent now?" Chloe snarked, punctuating that with a sip of her latte.

"Hey! I was always intelligent," he argued. He looked to Pete for help, but all he did was raise his eyebrows in doubt.

"Oh, yeah?" Pete countered. "Like when you ate all that paint back in second grade?"

Clark glared, but Chloe snorted and then quickly brought a hand up to her mouth.

"Was it lead-based paint?" she asked. "Because that would actually explain a lot."

"Oh, screw you two!" Clark said, and Chloe and Pete just laughed. "See if I come and visit you guys again," he added. He'd meant it only in a teasing way, but when both of their faces fell he realized how it'd come out. "Sorry-- " he started, but Chloe interrupted.

"No, we're sorry, Clark," she told him. "It's good to see you again." She smiled. "Easy to fall back into old habits, I guess. You wanna pull up a chair?" Chloe started looking around in search of an empty one nearby.

"Nah," Clark said, putting a hand on her arm to get her attention again. "You guys probably have to leave soon, don't you? I didn't time this too well."

"Clark Kent: Mr. Punctual," Pete said, but he was grinning. "Man, you're never on time for anything. I don't know how you get along up there without us herding you around all the time."

"Oh, you know." He wanted to keep it light, so he said, "I splurged and bought those little gnomes you see on TV. The organizer ones? Yeah, they wake me up and pick out my clothes and drive me to school. It's a pretty sweet deal." He nodded casually, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Chloe just gave him 'The Look.' "Well, I guess that explains why your undershirt matches your over shirt for the first time ever. I was beginning to think you were color-blind."

Clark just laughed. "That's what your dad said to Lex one time. You crazy Sullivans and your nutty ideas. Blue and red go perfectly well together!"

"Uh, no, no they do not," she stated. "You looked silly. Today, however, you are successfully implementing the number one rule of fashion. I applaud this effort, Mr. Kent."

"And what's the number one rule?" Pete diligently asked in a bored tone. He and Clark shared a look, and Pete rolled his eyes at Chloe while Clark chuckled.

"No socks with sandals," she deadpanned, and now it was Clark's turn to snort. Pete just shook his head in disappointment, but Clark knew what to look for and could tell Pete found it just as hilarious as he did. Chloe eyed Clark critically from head to toe. "Now, I for one am glad the plaid is not in evidence anywhere in this ensemble. And green is a wonderful color on you. The pants are nice. . . and clean too, for Heaven's sake! Never thought I'd see the day."

"That's cos Clark's a city boy now," Pete said, and Clark didn't think it was his imagination that there was a little tension in that comment.

"Well, I don't care," Chloe retorted, "so long as I never see another straw twig anywhere on your person again! Sends the wrong impression, you know," she added, patting his hand in a mock consoling gesture.

"'Straw twigs?'" Clark repeated incredulously. "I don't even know where to begin describing what all's wrong with what you just said, so. . . moving on!"

"Yes, let's!" Pete agreed. "So you hangin' around for awhile, or do you have to leave?"

Clark shrugged. "No, I'll hang around, I guess."

Pete nodded. "You up for supper then? My folks would freak if I didn't let them feed you while you were here."

Clark grinned, then went over and slung his arm around Pete's shoulders. "My good man, I would be delighted to have supper at your house. Now," he said conspiratorially, "whose cooking are we to be enjoying this evening?"

"Dad's," Pete answered promptly.

"Ahhhhh," he sighed happily.

"Yeah," Pete agreed. "Mom's been busy last couple days, so it's all Dad. Last night, Clark? Last night, we had chicken cacciatore and I swear to you, I am still full right now."

"But you're going to eat three helpings of whatever he makes tonight, aren't you?" Clark guessed.

"Oh, you know it! The man can cook!"

"You and your food," Chloe said, rolling her eyes and pointedly finishing off her coffee.

"Don't mind her," Pete said sotto voce. "She's been psyching herself out about the big lake party."

Clark nodded. "You mean the annual big kegger at Crater Lake? The one all the popular kids have every year and think no one knows about?"

Pete nodded, and they both turned their heads to look at Chloe. "Yep! That's the one all right. Chloe here has her sights set on an exposé. She's gonna gain admittance into their ranks and then blow the whole thing wide open in The Torch with a lecture on debauchery and underage drinking."

"Go ahead and tell everyone right now, why don'tcha?" Chloe hissed angrily. "You ever hear of the word discretion?"

Pete put on his 'Thinky-Face' and Clark laughed, knowing what was coming. "Actually," Pete said, "I can't say as I have. Isn't that when a girl insists on eating nothing but baby carrots for a month in preparation for acting like a fool? Oh, and drinking mass quantities of coffee." He shook his head. "Can't forget the coffee. It's the most important of all the food groups, don'tcha know, Clark."

"I didn't know that," he responded. He looked closer at Chloe, and now that Pete had said something he could see she did look skinnier. There were also dark circles under her eyes, and she wasn't smiling as much as she usually did. "Baby carrots are okay," he added, "but personally I prefer a nice juicy hamburger. And potato chips, the cheddar and sour cream kind. Mmm, what I wouldn't give for some chips right about now."

"Oh, no, Clark," Pete mock reproved. "We've gotta save room for lasagna."

He turned to Pete, widening his eyes and lifting his eyebrows as though surprised. "'Lasagna?'" he repeated. "Oh, forget the chips then! Mr. Ross' lasagna is just. . . hmm. How could you describe such a magnificent experience?"

"Heavenly," Pete stated. "That stuff'll make you change religion."

They looked at each other, waited a beat, then in unison said, "We're not worthy, we're not worthy!"

As they laughed, Chloe crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at them. People had started trickling out the last few minutes, and she turned her head with a huff and looked around the now nearly-empty coffee shop.

"You guys are acting like jerks," she pronounced.

"And you're acting like a teenage female stereotype," Pete snapped, all laughter abruptly gone. He shrugged Clark's arm off his shoulder, and leaned across the table. "Maybe with Clark here you'll listen. You're not fat. Quit starvin' yourself and eat something for chrissake! You look like a fucking skeleton."

Pete leaned back and unconsciously mirrored Chloe by folding his arms across his chest.

Clark was stuck just looking between them. He didn't think anything he had to say was going to be all that helpful, and when they got like this it was impossible to talk to either one of them anyway.

"So, Chloe," he ventured. "What do you know about the so-called 'Cane Murder?'"

There was silence still, but then she turned her head to look at Clark.

Raising her eyebrows, she pointedly ignored responding to Pete cussing her out and replied, "And since when do you take an interest in sordid murders, Clark? Cos I wouldn't think that one would come up too often in casual conversation."

"Since the guy who sits next to me in English class is Jared Lyons." He waited, watching her process the significance of the name, and then imagining he could see the exact moment the light bulb went on above her head.

"Spill!" Chloe demanded, reaching to her left to pull out a notepad and pen. "Start from the beginning, not the end." Clark looked at her in confusion, and she added with a roll of her eyes, "You always tell stories weird. I want to get this one right."

So he related all he knew, with Chloe periodically interrupting to correct or have him clarify something. Things were still a little tense around the table, but not nearly as bad as they'd been just a few minutes ago.

Halfway through Chloe debating with herself over how to start the article (that Clark was going to later convince her not to write), Pete leaned over and nudged him in the side with his elbow.

"Thanks," he whispered, leaning back before Chloe had the opportunity to look up from her cramped notes.

"Not a problem," Clark responded. "Happy to help."

***

He stayed with Pete's family until just after nine that night. Eventually, he knew he'd have to leave, and it'd be more believable if he left while the bus lines actually were still running between Smallville and Metropolis.

"Now you take care of yourself, young man," Mrs. Ross told him sternly. She brushed at his shoulders, then with a sigh she pulled him into a tight hug. Clark could feel her earrings against his collarbone, could tell she'd worn perfume this morning and could smell the coffee on her breath.

She hugged him, and he felt like crying right there.

Clark gently pulled away and she let go, stepping back and brushing imaginary lint off him again. Mr. Ross came over and shook his hand, then pulled him into the manly, back-slapping version of the exact same hug. Pete was leaning against the wall nearby, and Clark met his eyes over Mr. Ross' shoulder.

"Hey, man," Pete said quietly when it was his turn. He reached up and slapped Clark on the arm. "Take care of yourself. Don't go causing any trouble." He smiled.

Clark nodded. "Keep working on the bike, would ya?" he asked. "It's looking real good. Next time, we can go riding maybe."

"Yeah, totally. Sounds like a plan, Stan."

Clark smiled, and knew with Pete's parents still standing not too far away he could get away with. . .

"Oh, come here, big guy!" he exclaimed, swooping down and jerking Pete off his feet into a big bear hug. He lifted him up and Pete just squawked indignantly. Mr. and Mrs. Ross laughed, and Clark grinned. "I'll miss you most of all, Scarecrow!"

"Shut up! Put me down, you behemoth!" He sighed, giving in and going limp in Clark's arms. "You better not tell Chloe 'bout this," he whispered before starting to return the hug. "Miss you too, Clark-Bar. You big, giant mushball."

Clark gave Pete another big squeeze then put him back down on the floor. Pete tried to scowl, but his mouth kept smiling. Eventually, he reached out and pulled a fake punch to Clark's stomach.

"Now get outta here. Tired of you eating all our food!"

"You're the one who ate it all," Clark argued. "You always eat it all, then you blame it on me! I know your tricks."

Pete unashamedly grinned. "Yeah, well, all anyone has to do is take one look at your freakishly huge self and it's a no-brainer. Big guy eats food. Little guy doesn't."

"You just called yourself a little guy," Clark pointed out, and Pete gave him a little shove towards the front door.

"That's it!" he said. "I don't have to take this verbal abuse from you."

"Yeah, yeah," Clark obliged, steadily walking backward. "I'll see ya later, Pete."

"You'll call me later, you mean," Pete corrected. "Maybe Chloe and I can come up there again next month. Summer's almost here."

"Yeah," he replied. "That'd be cool." Clark looked past Pete and waved to Mr. and Mrs. Ross. Pete's dad had his arm around Pete's mom, and they were looking sad before Clark turned to them again, both of them putting on that fake cheerful expression. "Thank you for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Ross," he said politely.

Mrs. Ross just smiled, but Mr. Ross nodded. "You're welcome here anytime, Clark," he said seriously. "Be careful on the way back to the city, and don't you be a stranger." He paused. "It's good to see you smile, son."

"Feels good to do it, sir," he answered. And with another wave, he opened the door and set off walking in the direction of the bus stop.

When he got out of sight of the Rosses' house, he ducked into another alley and ran back to Metropolis. It was only a little past nine, after all.


	14. Thirteen

Lex wasn't at the Luthorcorp building, so Clark sped right past it and down the large avenue to the Towers. At a quarter past nine, the foot traffic was still heavy and busy enough that he could slow down and stop behind a trash can and a small tree and not be noticed.

The city. It did have its perks sometimes.

Sixty-six floors up, Lex was standing by his huge wall of windows. Clark could see him.

There was a glass in his hand, which at this point in the day meant alcohol because Lex only ever drank about three things: water, coffee, or alcohol. A few times Clark had caught him with a protein or health shake thing of some kind. Once, it'd been hot tea in a mug because Lex said he liked the smell. He was weird like that, and every time he did something quirky or strange and didn't seem to know he was being quirky or strange. . . Clark just felt like smiling and loving him and laughing all at the same time.

Lex wasn't quirky when he drank alcohol, however. 

Clark returned his attention to the street and the people walking briskly past him. Very briskly, like they needed to be someplace right that second and no one was going to stand in their way or make them wait. 

He hurried over to the East tower's front entrance. Barry, the door guy, nodded at Clark and just waved him on over to the elevators.

"Having a good night?" Clark asked while he waited for the car to drop.

Barry shrugged. " 'S okay. Can't complain."

"How's college goin' for ya? You do okay on that test? The one you had in, uh, Expository Writing, was it?"

That got him a smile. In fact, that got him a grin as Barry even blushed a little. 

"Aced it," he shared quietly, and Clark laughed in delight.

"Awesome, man!" He shook his head. "So, you write anything here? When you're on the job?" Barry just looked at him, but Clark was on a roll. He'd get another smile out of the guy. He was fully determined to turn this day around. 

It had started out less than ideal, taken a nosedive into very uncomfortable, but then it'd picked up. For the last three hours or so, this had been a good day, a little bittersweet, but nothing Clark couldn't handle. 

He was going to make it even better yet as soon as the elevator arrived. Barry could just reap the benefits of his new. . . optimistic outlook. Determined and go-getting, that was the New Clark Kent. 

No more of this passive, depressive funk.

That wasn't-- that wasn't any way to. . . live. They would've been so upset with Clark about how he'd been acting, especially towards his teachers and friends. Maybe-- maybe Dad wouldn't have been as upset with Clark about how he and William. . . interacted, but he'd always placed a lot of importance on hard work and making every effort to do one's best. Clark hadn't been doing that. He hadn't. . . he hadn't been doing what they'd taught him.

He hadn't been making them. . . proud. 

"What kind of stuff do you write?" Clark asked Barry. The light had just brightened above the number 33, then hit 32, 31, so he figured he had a minute or two before the elevator hit the lobby. "Fiction? Non-fiction?"

Barry shrugged. "Both. Mostly fiction, though."

"Science fiction?" Clark fished.

Barry's head popped back up and he met Clark's eyes, surprised. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I've written a few stories. Why?" he asked. "You a fan?" He smiled at Clark, and Clark smiled back.

"You could say that." He glanced towards the elevators -- 19th floor and descending. "Hey, listen, Barry. If you ever need, like, a second opinion or something. . . "

Barry chuckled and Clark stopped talking, just raised his eyebrows in question. 

"You have the worst timing, man," Barry said, still chuckling, although Clark thought now that there wasn't much humor in the guy's laugh. "Oh, what I wouldn't give for you to've said that last week." 

"Oh," Clark replied. "Uh, sorry?" He smiled a little nervously, but Barry just brushed it aside with a wave of his hand.

"No, no, don't apologize! Monday's the start of Finals Week," Barry explained, and Clark grimaced right along with him. High school final exams sucked. He didn't even want to think about how the college versions must be exponentially worse. "It's just. . . God, I could've used a fresh set of eyes when I was turning in all those freakin' papers!"

"I can hang around now, if you want," Clark offered. He stepped away from the bank of elevators and moved closer to the front desk Barry sat behind. "You know, if-- if you've still got something that you. . . really need some 16-year-old kid's opinion on." He finished with a grin, figuring any awkward rambling could be overcome by a heartfelt smile. Hopefully.

"Nah, man," Barry said, and thankfully he smiled right back at Clark. "I don't have anything with me, but-- but if you're serious. . . ?"

Clark nodded. "Yeah, yeah, totally. I used to write for my school paper." He grimaced, but Barry smiled politely. Clark had the feeling he wasn't helping his case any as an educated judge of writing, but. . . "I mean, I got the lame stories, but my best friend, now she knew how to write. So I kinda, uh, know what it should look like?" He made another face at how lame that sounded.

"It sounds great, Clark," Barry said. Clark looked up, and the guy seemed sincere. . . "I'll bring a few things in next time, uh, Thursday? I'm up here from 4:30 to 1:00 in the morning, so, you know, just drop by whenever. They're just scribblings, really, nothing, uh, polished or anything like that. Maybe you could, you know, just read and tell me what you think? Like, does it suck or is it incoherent or-- ?"

Clark laughed. "Yeah," he said, "I can do that. Thursday it is."

"Cool," Barry replied, smiling. 

The elevator arrived not two seconds after, and Clark chuckled. He shared another manly nod-brief-smile-wave with Barry, and then went to the elevator car and walked inside.

So far so good. He was now three-and-oh on the Smiling Front. Chloe, Pete, Barry, none were immune to him today.

And Lex wouldn't be either.

*** 

"Hey," Clark said.

Lex just looked at him. It wasn't an unfriendly look, but it wasn't anything like what Clark was used to seeing, either. 

Kinda . . . blank.

"You mind if I come in?" he asked pointedly.

Lex's eyes squinted a little, but he stepped back from the door. In fact, he left the doorway entirely, and it was Clark who shut it behind himself while Lex just went back to standing in front of the westward facing windows. The apartment was dim, only two lamps on in the entire place from what Clark could tell.

Great. 

"You've been avoiding me," Clark said quietly.

Lex was facing away from him, but Clark could still make out his face in the window, even through the gloom. Lex just took another swallow from the glass in his hand. That was it. Not even a muscle twitch or shift in expression at all.

"So it's not just because you're busy," Clark stated. "You're actually out-and-out ignoring me. Well, that's just great, Lex. Real mature." He let his head drop forward, and wondered where all his resolve had disappeared to. He hated fighting, arguing, confrontation. 

He didn't like this feeling either, though, like he was only good enough to hang around as long as no one knew about it. That's when all this had started, Lex making excuses as to why Clark couldn't come over, or why he was too busy, or blah blah blah. As soon as a photo of the two of them had popped up in the papers. . . pffft! So long Clark and Lex.

"This is stupid," Clark muttered. 

"What is?" came Lex's voice. 

Clark lifted his head to glare at the back of Lex's head. "You, for one thing," he snapped back. "You treating me like-- like I'm your boyfriend for months and then just dropping me at the first sign of trouble. You're stupid, Lex. And a bad friend."

Oddly enough, that's when Lex's blank-face cracked and he actually displayed some emotion. He looked amused.

Amused, like Clark had said something silly or childish or naïve, like he were insignificant enough in Lex's life that he didn't even get a proper break-up. Just, 'Hey, I'm really busy.' 

"What?" Clark demanded. Shouted, actually, but Lex was an asshole and he deserved to be shouted at. "What's so funny? Is this just some joke to you? Stupid kid and his stupid crush?"

Lex shook his head and tilted his head back to finish off the drink. Then he turned around and leaned over to set down the empty glass.

Then, it was just Lex standing there, slumped and probably actually past buzzed and on his way to drunk, if the looseness of his body were any indication. 

"Clark, where do you think this is going?" 

"What do you mean?" he responded as coldly as he could, which probably wasn't all that cold. 

"This. . . relationship," Lex clarified. Clark caught a slight turning up of Lex's lips, but it didn't seem like he were cheerful at all. Or amused, honestly. "Where do you think you and I are going, as a couple? Where do you see us in five years?"

"I've never thought about it," Clark replied honestly. Lex nodded his head like that was exactly what he'd been expecting to hear. He smiled that. . . bitter. . . smile again and Clark couldn't tell what he was feeling. In fact, he couldn't figure out what Lex was feeling any more than he knew what he himself was feeling. He was angry, and hurt, and embarrassed. He felt worried, and disappointed, and somehow. . . 

Somehow, it occurred to Clark to wonder if this weren't some sort of test.

"Of course," Clark continued, Lex still looking at the floor, "I'm lucky these days to even get my homework done on time, let alone sit down and plan out the future." He waited, for almost a minute surely, hoping Lex would look up or just break the silence.

No such luck.

"I don't care about publicity," Clark finally threw out there. No reaction. "I don't care what other people say about me or what I do, either. Well," he amended, "maybe certain people, but not strangers, not people I've never met, and will never meet. If this is about those photographers taking pictures of us last week, then. . . " He took a deep breath. "Jesus Christ, Lex, who do you think I am?"

That got a reaction. Clark sucked in a quick breath as Lex's head snapped up. He finally met Clark's eyes, finally, actually, really looked him right in the eyes.

Clark didn't like what he saw there, but at least he was seeing it. 

"Who do I think you are?" Lex parroted back. Clark nodded, shrugging and throwing his hands up. "Who do I think you are. Clark," he said on a laugh, "how the hell am I supposed to know who you are if you never tell me? Hmmm? Am I supposed to guess, and maybe you'll tell me one day when I get it right? Or is this one of those things we just don't talk about? Like, say. . . how you're still alive after being hit by a car going, if I can remember correctly, 76 miles per hour? Or," Lex continued, taking a step closer and then another, and then another, "perhaps this-- this asking me who I think you are -- perhaps this is just another brush-off or, uh, diversion." He chuckled again. Lex said all that, and then he chuckled and lifted his eyebrows like it was one big joke.

Like he was trying to say it was one big joke. Lex was drunk. Clark could tell that by the flatness of his eyes and the reek of the alcohol on his breath, by the way he moved very, very deliberately and carefully. Lex was drunk, and something was up and he was-- he was taking it out on Clark.

"Fuck you," Clark said quietly. Lex was close enough now, less than a foot away, that he had no problem hearing it. That was evident by the flinch and slight lean backwards.

"Excuse me?" Lex croaked out, probably going for offended and indignant, but now that Clark knew what he was dealing with, Lex's response just read as shocked and disbelieving. Yeah, definitely a test.

Drunk Lex was not Clark's favorite, not by a long shot. He'd seen several versions, several different sides of the man, and so far it was a tossup between Drunk Lex and Lex Luthor, Son of Lionel Luthor as to which he liked least. 

He didn't hate either version, of course. They were just different aspects of Lex's personality, after all. He just wished Lex didn't feel the need to drink so much that he got drunk. He wished Lionel weren't Lex's father, truthfully. He wished Lionel weren't anyone's father.

"Fuck you, Lex," Clark repeated, although now instead of feeling really ticked off, he just. . . he just wanted Lex back. "You and your mind games. You know me, or-- or at least I thought you did." He sighed. "This is just. . . this is just stupid."

He sighed again, the second in less than a minute's time, and then said, "Fine. You don't want to talk? Fine. I'll come back tomorrow, bright and early when you're still all hungover, and I'll knock on that door until you answer. And then-- then, I'll sit here and I'll wait. . . until you grow the fuck up and stop treating me like some moron who doesn't know what the real world's like." This time it was Clark who moved closer. He took one step in, and that put him close. Then he took another, deliberately holding Lex's eyes as he did, and that. . . that put them about an inch away from touching.

"I'm not stupid," Clark said to him quietly. Lex ducked his head, and Clark very nearly reached up to grab his chin and make him look back, but. . . "And neither are you. I know-- " He took the deep breath before the plunge. "I know you have questions and things you need to hear and-- but I can't-- I can't tell you now, Lex. I'm sorry. I am. I'm really fucking sorry, but I just. . . can't tell you."

He trailed off pathetically and wished he'd rethought the whole plan of attack tonight, waited until tomorrow, or the day after or the one after that. His luck had run out. Maybe he'd used it all up already on Chloe and Pete and Barry. Maybe making four people smile in one day was just. . . impossible for Clark. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," he finally whispered to Lex's head. He wanted to reach out and kiss him, but figured that sort of thing wasn't allowed when you were fighting. Kinda. Clark made to turn around, and just as he took a step back and started to face his left-- 

Lex reached out and grabbed his arm.

*** 

Clark said he was sorry two more times before Lex actually told him to shut up. Was it wrong to have sex with someone who was drunk? Even if he'd had sex with him before? 

Lex ran his nails down Clark's right leg at one point. Hard. Clark didn't flinch, and Lex didn't say anything, so he figured this was their stalemate. He couldn't tell Lex what Lex needed to know. Not now. Not when things were just. . . getting better. 

It was the first time Lex didn't ask him if he were all right every minute or two. It was the first time Clark didn't resort to gripping his own hair or holding his hands tight across his chest.

Lex never said one word about the ripped sheets, or the three very distinct and thoroughly embarrassing finger-sized holes punched into the mattress on Clark's side. He didn't raise his eyebrows or sneer or stalk off or any of the many things Clark feared and expected he would do.

No, that night, Lex was drunk and he started out mean, verbally, but he wasn't mean with his body. He never showed even the slightest bit of resentment or anger once he'd dragged Clark into the bedroom and pushed him down on his back. 

That was how he knew it'd been a test. Lex lied. He was good at it, at least Clark had always thought so. Now, though-- now, he knew one of the signals. Now, he knew what to look for. 

Lex lied. He could do it with his facial expressions and his voice, even his eyes, but he couldn't lie with his body. Lex wasn't angry at Clark, or at least he wasn't by the time the two fingers of his left hand were working inside Clark's ass and his tongue was slicking across the roof of Clark's mouth. Lex's fingers were deliberate, but they weren't abrupt or too forceful. The way he pushed and tugged and positioned Clark was somewhat aggressive, but it wasn't cold. It wasn't detached or scornful or Lex getting off on some kind of power trip. 

Lex never said sorry with his mouth, at least not verbally. His body said it, though. His hands when they ran up and down and molded around Clark's thighs said it. His lips when he kissed the back of Clark's neck said it. 

Even his eyes, when he looked at Clark afterward, and the way his breath hitched ever so slightly, barely noticeable -- unless you were an alien -- even then, Lex said 'I'm sorry.' And when he pursed his lips and closed his eyes and turned his head away, and yet his fingers gripped Clark's hair tighter and his legs, Lex's strong, perfect legs, moved and shifted around just a bit, just enough that almost every inch of them touched Clark's legs, well. . . 

Well, that's when Lex was really saying something more than 'I'm sorry.'


	15. Fourteen

Clark woke up on that day early, when it was still dark outside. He came to lying face down next to Lex, with his arm slung over Lex's stomach and their legs touching. He woke up on the 12th of May to no school and nothing to do that day but. . . hang out. Lex hadn't said anything, but he'd been keeping pretty close the last couple days, watching Clark and his reactions and carefully sidestepping certain areas of conversation altogether. 

They didn't talk about the press or Lex's reaction to those photos of the two of them that'd been printed in the paper and spread about last week. They didn't, by tacit agreement, discuss their 'differences' or exactly why it was Clark was still alive when they both pretty much knew Lex had hit him dead-on with his car last fall in the bridge incident. 

And they didn't talk about parents, either Lex's or. . . Clark's. But it was the 12th today, which meant it was something like an anniversary. Clark woke up with Lex, having practically lived with him since they'd fought and made up last week. He woke up first, on the 12th, and thought maybe they could take a road trip. Or Clark could, if Lex didn't want to go. Maybe he had some business he needed to get done today. It was a regular work day for everyone else. Only kids were free in the summers, right? Maybe Lex just wouldn't want to go back. It was Smallville, after all. Bad memories there for Lex, too. 

Clark looked over at where Lex was still breathing steadily, regularly, asleep and dreaming, if the rolling eyes behind his eyelids were any indication. Clark looked, and remembered Lex was only 21.

He remembered his own birthday was two days away, and that he'd be. . . 16 years old, supposedly. He wondered if Lex knew when Clark's birthday was, wondered if the year made any difference to him. It didn't mean anything, really. It was just a day his parents had picked. Random. Who knew how old he actually was, either? Maybe it'd taken years and years for him to. . . get here. Maybe he was actually Lex's age. Or older even. It was possible.

No one knew, and from what he could tell, no one ever would. He was alone here. No one had ever come for him. Almost 15 years, and nobody had ever dropped by saying they were looking for some alien kid. No one had missed him. Clark's. . . his mom, she'd said a couple times that he'd found them, instead of the other way around. 

But no one had found him. Fifteen years was a long time. If they hadn't come by now, chances were. . . no one ever would. He was alone here. His parents dead, and his so-called grandparents barely acknowledged him on good days, and outright ignored him on the bad ones. Clark watched Lex sleep and dream on the three-month anniversary of his parents' deaths, and eventually moved closer to him. He slid one arm under Lex and the other he curved around top of him. He pulled him closer and set his head down on Lex's steadily rising and falling chest. . . and briefly wondered what life might've been like if he hadn't found his parents all those years ago, if he'd found someone else instead.

What might've happened if Lex hadn't hit him last fall.

Where he'd be now if things had turned out differently three months ago, and his parents weren't dead. 

Forever.

*** 

"You're sure?" Lex asked him quietly.

Clark nodded, and Lex smile-grimaced back at him, turning off the car's engine and waiting for Clark to make the first move. He'd been following Clark's lead all day, and it made sense. Lex had wanted to come along, but it wasn't his thing really. Moral support, Clark thought. Lex was here as Clark's moral support.

Sometimes, though, he just wished Lex would tell him what to do. . . so he wouldn't always have to figure it out himself, or guess, or get it wrong and then have to correct himself. He wished-- 

"Okay," Clark breathed out, looking up at the house. "Okay." He turned and pulled on the door handle, getting it open and standing up from the car. Clark stood there looking for too long, though. Minutes, at least, and all he did was stare at the house, taking in the differences again. 

He didn't tell Lex he'd dropped by here before, last month, in fact. Besides, trespassing in the middle of the night didn't count. He hadn't gone in, or anything, hadn't looked around. Clark cast a quick glance behind at the barn before turning back to look at his. . . his old house. 

"Clark," Lex said, still quiet, careful, and barely there. When Clark looked over, Lex nodded his head towards the front porch, where the back door was open and a woman was peering out at them. "You want me to go explain? Maybe ask to look around?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. Clark stepped around his car door, and shut it tight behind him. He put his hands in his pockets, and took a few steps closer to hom-- to the house. "I'll go up. But you. . . you'll come with me, right?" He looked at Lex, who helped by taking off his sunglasses just then and hooking them on the front of his shirt. Clark moved out farther from the car, and Lex did, too. 

They walked together up the back path to the house, and Clark hesitated at the foot of the steps. The woman had come outside, and her eyebrows were up high as she looked at them. She was confused, and curious, but Clark didn't think she looked suspicious or uneasy. Which was good. That was good. 

"Hello," the woman said, when he and Lex stopped. "Can I help you?"

Lex smiled politely, and then turned to Clark, his own eyebrows lifting in question. And all Clark could do was stand there. 

"Hello, ma'am," Lex said, taking the first step up and holding his hand out to shake the woman's. She took it, and Lex said, while the two of them were going through the greeting ritual, "My name's Lex Luthor and this is my. . . friend, Clark Kent." There was a tiny pause between when he said 'my' and 'friend' and Clark wondered what Lex had originally considered saying there, but decided against. He had an idea what it might have been, and it made something inside him loosen and ease up. Lex was still talking to the woman, eventually dropping her hand, but still staying up on the step. "He used to live here," Lex said in a soft voice, gesturing with his right hand back at Clark.

The woman's expression changed, suddenly taking a downward turn. She moved her head over to look at Clark, and her face showed so much pity and sadness that Clark bit his lip to keep from saying anything or going up there to comfort her. He wasn't stupid. He knew why she was looking at him like that. 

It hadn't been a secret that his parents had died here, and most of the stuff they'd had had been sold with the property. 'As is,' Clark remembered hearing William say a lot back then. It was no surprise then. This woman and her husband, her family, they must've stumbled across things that showed the Kents, the-- the three of them. Him. Pictures, photos. Everything on the farm had been sold, and the only things that hadn't were the things Clark had taken himself, or that Mary had, and maybe a few friends of his parents' that'd stopped by or something. Clark didn't know. He hadn't been allowed on the property except that once. Sherriff Ethan had brought him, with Mary lingering behind in hallways and doorways and William remaining irritably outside in the car. 

Clark had tried to lose the Sherriff and Mary so that he could go check on the storm cellar. . . and his ship, but neither of them would let him get near the place. Finally, he'd had to just push past and stalk back there, William unfortunately seeing his exit from the house and stomping after him. Clark remembered the crater, and how he'd just stopped right there upon seeing it. The whole structure had been decimated, just blown up and bits of it flung everywhere. Clark had stared and stared, the other three catching up to him and asking him questions (in Ethan and Mary's case) and snapping angrily at him (in William's). He'd scanned the area, had looked deeper and all around. For miles, Clark had looked, around and around, but he'd seen no sign of his ship. It'd been gone by the time he had gotten there, and no one had ever mentioned finding anything weird about the explosion site. The unknown cause, yeah, the fact there was no indication why the place had exploded or why his parents had even been in there, but. . . a space ship? Nope. 

It was gone. Just like them. Just like-- 

Clark met the woman's eyes and smiled somewhat. He did that awkward smile people always did when nobody knew what to say next. Maybe Lex would know, he thought. He turned to look at him, but Lex actually looked just as uncomfortable as Clark felt. Like an intruder, an interloper. 

"Clark," the woman said, moving her still outstretched hand over to him, "it's nice to meet you. And you, Mr. Luthor," she added, the barest hint of red coloring her cheeks as she blushed. Clark had put her age at somewhere around early 30s, but bumped it down when he saw how she reacted to Lex. It wasn't flirting, but she wasn't. . . completely uninterested, either.

Huh. Clark smiled, and came closer to shake the woman's hand. "I'm Melinda," she said, when they started shaking, "Donovan." After a few seconds, she stopped squeezing Clark's hand and he obligingly let hers go. Lex was still standing on the first step, with Melinda on the porch, and Clark down on the ground. There was a little awkward silence of maybe half a minute, and then Melinda took a step back and waved for them to come up after her.

"You're welcome to come inside," she said. "Jake's out in one of the fields today, but I've got my assistants here to keep us company." She smiled somewhat playfully, and Clark thought he knew what she meant by 'assistants.' He glanced over at Lex as both he and Clark stepped up the stairs after Melinda, and almost laughed at the look on his face. Lex was confused and trying to hide it, and focusing on that and the fact that he could see through it, see through Lex's mask, was what probably got Clark back inside that house. 

The floor still creaked when he hit that one spot to the right of the door. There were still scratches and nicks where there had always been scratches and nicks. The cupboard by the sink still wouldn't close all the way, from the looks of it. The fridge and oven and microwave, and pretty much all the appliances were still. . . and the curtains over the windows, and that plant in the corner was Mo-- had been. Had been.

Clark took a deep breath and tried to face away from Lex. Melinda had gestured for them to take a seat at the counter and then had promptly dashed off somewhere farther into the house. Looking around and seeing all the familiar stuff mixed in with different furniture and clothing and strange little knickknacks was almost unbearable. Clark could feel pressure gathering behind his eyes, in the corners, and his throat felt funny. He coughed a little, trying to clear it, and went to take another step away from Lex.

A hand touched his arm, though. Clark kept his head turned away, but Lex's hand didn't move. It just gently squeezed, and then, then Lex's hand on Clark's arm shifted back to become Lex's hand on Clark's back.

"You're sure?" Lex whispered to him, repeating what he'd asked out in the car. His hand rubbed Clark's back in circles, and he'd moved closer, had closed the gap between them that Clark had been trying to widen. Lex's voice was soft and concerned, and Clark shut his eyes.

He nodded, knowing his eyes gave him away when wetness was suddenly running down his face. Clark sniffed and then moved away from Lex completely. He walked over to the kitchen sink, and then along the island in the center. Clark went around the room, and tried not to feel stupid when more tears just kept coming out and rolling down. He must look like a big girl, some loser crying over moved furniture and dents in the hardwood. 

There were some noises coming from the back stairs, and then Clark looked up and saw Melinda coming down. With her. . . assistants. 

A little girl of about six or seven followed Melinda, and in her tiny arms she was holding a toddler, a boy, by the looks of things. Melinda smiled at Clark and then over at Lex as the trio descended. Then she reached down and took up the toddler, guiding the little girl over with a hand to her back. 

"Lily," Melinda said, once they were close, "this is Clark Kent and his friend, Lex." She looked down. "Clark used to live here. Those are probably his toys you guys are playing with."

Lily's eyebrows went up, and she looked over at Lex quickly before turning to Clark. And then she just looked at him for the longest time. Clark didn't know if that were normal for little kids, or normal for girls or something, but Lily stared at him for almost a full minute. Then, like it was just routine, she stated, "I like the mice family. Jordan tries to put them in his mouth, but I don't let him. My favorite's the mommy cos she has soft hair."

Silence, and then Clark chuckled. He couldn't help it. He just looked back at Lily and smiled. "Is the crib still up there?" he asked carefully.

"Yep!" Lily answered, loudly. "I put the baby mouse in it. Then I covered it with a Kleenex. Like a blanket," she explained, and Clark smiled again.

He stood back up without really knowing when he'd bent down. Clark looked at Melinda anxiously, but she was still calm and had a small smile on her face. Then, he glanced at Lex. 

Who looked as confused as Clark had ever seen him. 

Clark chuckled, and Lex's head turned. He met Clark's eyes somewhat suspiciously. 

"The mice family was something my, uh, my grandma made," Clark said. He took a step sideways so he could lean on the island, and watched as Lily climbed up on one of the stools around the other side. Melinda shifted the toddler, Jordan, evidently, to her other hip and then walked over to another stool. "Uh, they're clay," Clark continued, looking between Lex and the little girl. "Grandma Kent molded them and had them fired over in old Mr. Wendell's kiln." He met Lex's eyes. "Mr. Wendell made these special bowls and pots and things, and then sold them. Got a lot of money for 'em, too, I think. That's why the Wendells are so well-off."

Lex had a strange expression on his face. Not quite a smile, not quite a smirk, not really sad, but not exactly happy, either. Clark couldn't figure out what the man was thinking, but then. . . that actually happened a lot. 

"Did she make the clothes, too?" little Lily suddenly asked. Clark turned back to her, and saw she was literally bouncing in her seat. "And the hair! I like the hair on the mommy."

Clark chuckled again, leaning over the counter to be eye level with her. "She did," he told her, and watched the little girl beam. "Grandma sewed all the little dresses and suits, and then glued the hair on each one. There were six when I lived here. The mom and dad, and four-- "

"We have six!" Lily declared, proudly. "Four kid mice. Well, the baby's different. Three and the baby." Lily leaned closer over the counter to Clark. "The baby mouse looks like Jordan!" 

"Lily!" Melinda cried out, embarrassed. She darted an apologetic look over to Clark and Lex and then turned back to her daughter. 

Clark, for his part, could only laugh. Although, he realized it was probably pretty sticky territory he was on right now, not wanting to egg Lily on, but finding it just too funny that she'd compared her baby brother to a clay mouse with doll's hair. 

"Did she make them for you?" Lily suddenly asked.

Clark tried to keep smiling, but felt, in the long run, that no smile was better than a forced one. "No," he replied quietly, "she made them for my Aunt Sarah, when she was a little girl." He leaned closer. "But my dad once confessed that he liked playing with them, too." 

Lily giggled, and Melinda smiled, and the toddler even baby-talked something up at Clark, grinning a toothy grin. Clark darted another look over at Lex, and saw him sort of smiling, too.

And so Clark grinned at Lex, and then turned back to tell Lily about the time his dad had decided to give the mice family a bath. . . in the toilet upstairs. 

***

Lex stopped at the car, not opening his door, but just standing there like he was on pause all of a sudden. He looked at Clark questioningly. 

"Aunt Sarah?" he asked. "I thought-- I didn't know you had an aunt, Clark."

"I don't," he replied, answering the unspoken question 'Why didn't you go with your aunt?' "She died a long time ago, my dad's senior year at Met U."

A tense moment of silence, while Clark waited for Lex to ask the follow-up question he knew was forming.

"How?" Lex finally asked, simple and direct.

Clark met him stare for stare. "Car accident," he answered, smiling sadly when Lex blinked and then winced in sudden understanding. "A drunk driver hit her car head-on, on her way home from a game."

"God," Lex sighed out, rubbing a hand over his face, "no wonder he was. . . so-- " He broke off before finishing, looking at Clark over the top of the car. 

In the end, it was the expression on his face that clinched it. He didn't look angry, or even fed up. Lex didn't look suspicious or doubtful, and neither did he seem to really be beating himself up. He looked, for all the world, disappointed, sad, and Clark felt in that moment that he'd do just about anything to wipe that expression off Lex's face.

And as it turned out, telling the truth wasn't all that hard. 

Clark nodded at Lex, his mind made up. "Yeah, that's probably a lot of it," he agreed, holding Lex's eyes. "Why he was so freaked out when you hit me," he carefully elaborated. 

Lex just stared at him, his eyes wide and his mouth open a bit. Then his lips curved up, slowly, slowly, like he was opening a gift and didn't want to rip the paper.

"Well, that," Lex said, recovering admirably, "and also the fact it was a Luthor doing the driving. I'm sure my name didn't help matters any."

Clark smiled back a little, and then reached down and opened his door. "Let's just hope we don't hit any other freshman on the way home then. I like this car."

Lex smiled, and it was one of the lightest, happiest smiles Clark had ever seen on his face. 

And again he thought that if all it took to make Lex look like that was telling him the truth. . .

Well, then that was fine with him.


End file.
